Sanguicolous
by Felicity Gemfiar
Summary: Draco and Harry find happiness together, but Lucius is more than furious. In fact, he takes revenge in ways that even the Dark Lord shys from... COMPLETE
1. Bloody Tears

Disclaimer: The characters named here are not mine, but property of J.K Rowling and the publishing people etc. The sole facet of the story I CAN claim is the plot.  
  
Author: Felicity Gemfiar  
  
Note: I apologize if my definition of a nun is incorrect. Please feel free to correct me if necessary.  
  
Reviews would be nice, if I should continue with the story...but, until then enjoy this. And the next chapters will have more sex, angst, torture etc. Please be patient with me =D.  
  
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Sanguicolous  
  
*My Immortal by Evanescence  
  
Chapter One-Bloody Tears  
  
Harry rested his head against the pillow in his room on number four, Privet Drive, staring up at the cracked and peeling ceiling. His sixth summer away from Hogwarts, and still the Dursleys refused to treat him properly. Not even Mad-Eye Moody and his very convincing threats could avert Uncle Vernon from tormenting Harry.  
  
So, this hot and sticky day in July, which happened to be his birthday, Harry was stuck in his room for another non-reason--in other words, just to get him out of the way. Looking up, Harry noticed the many patterned cracks in the walls and the slight tints and shades in the paint and sighed. Earlier this morning, very much earlier, he received a few things from Ron and Hermione, Hagrid and Lupin...but not Sirius. No, not Sirius.  
  
A gaping hole, a vortex of swirling pain opened in Harry's bosom as his thoughts turned to his Godfather. It had been a year since his death, only a year, but each time Harry remembered his smiling face or quirky hand movements, the pain was torn afresh. It seeped grief and guilt, for Harry felt the blame rested on his shoulders... so many other options he could have chosen... A sharp stab in the chest and a twist of the knife sent Harry's eyes shut and rolling on his side, clutching his heart.  
  
He tried to hold them back, forced himself to be calm--but the effort was in vain. The tears tumbled down his cheeks in constant trails to damp sheets beneath his flesh. The anguish was too deep, too new--going over and over Sirius' death in his mind, Harry could not turn his thoughts away...he missed his Godfather too much--  
  
As if on cue, a body appeared in the middle of Harry's bedroom--right on the floor of number four. Yet, Harry was too wrapped up in the grief, the searing pain to really notice, and the tears persisted to pool. The body, however, was not dead, but warmly alive and soon sprang up on its feet, observing the surroundings. The sudden movement caught Harry's eye and he sat abruptly up and wiped the tracks from his face.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco Malfoy, wand out and poised, turned to face the speaker. His sleek blond hair had taken a tumble and sprayed over his storm gray eyes. A cold mask in place, Malfoy considered the boy before speaking.  
  
"None of your damn business, Potter."  
  
The shock at catching Harry off guard, and Malfoy being his greatest enemy, and Malfoy's connection with the death of Sirius, and Malfoy's rudeness in Harry's house more than topped the bottle of emotion in him and Harry exploded.  
  
"None of my damn business?!" Harry snapped as he jumped from the bed to face Malfoy fully. "You are in my house, in my room and you have the fucking nerve to be rude like that and tell me off?! No, sir. Not fucking today. Get out!" With a loud and distinct shout Harry pointed, red anger saturating every pore of his features.  
  
Malfoy was taken aback by the vehemence and rage in Harry's tone and stood speechless and statue-like for a few minutes. Recovering himself, he opened his mouth to speak when pounding footsteps and more shouting sounded from behind Harry's bedroom door.  
  
"What's going on in there, boy?!" It was Uncle Vernon, clearly infuriated by the clamor Harry and Malfoy's discussion had caused. "What are you doing?!" A rattling of the doorknob ensued before Uncle Vernon remembered all the locks on the doors and began turning back the seventeen fixed bolts and chains.  
  
Panicking, Harry thrust himself at Malfoy and pushed him under the bed with the scratches and knocks of Vernon at the door. Within moments of Malfoy's stomach hitting the boards, a fat body shoved into the space between the jambs.  
  
"What was all the racket, boy? Why do you insist on interruptions? We are down stairs..." Uncle Vernon ranted and lectured the boy, while Harry inconspicuously covered Malfoy's seething face. The drone of Vernon's words was soon drowned by the throbbing in Harry's chest--the vacuum of emotion and nothingness into a gaping hole never to be fulfilled. With much more effort, Harry forced the tears behind his lids not to plunge down his features. Two sets of eyes pierced him, empowering his façade, but only intensifying the sinking vortex of unspeakable pain.  
  
Uncle Vernon, engulfed in his tantrum, did not spare the extra minutes looking at his nephew and thus did not see the water stains or the reddened eyes that stared back at him. "...should have the decency to be quiet..." Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to carry steadily. "...Now, shut up!" The fat man abruptly pivoted and exited Harry's quarters, slamming the door behind him. The following minute was filled with the rattle of locks being replaced.  
  
Harry sank onto his mattress, clutching his aching heart again, head bowed and chin touching his rather expansive chest. The grief threatened to suck through his back, and dry sobs began to rack Harry's body.  
  
As graceful as it is possible to get from underneath a bed, Malfoy rose from his position and stared at his now dirty robes, dusting them off.  
  
"In concurrence with your Uncle, what the hell was that for?"  
  
Malfoy glanced up and took in Harry rocking back and forth on the mattress, shaking involuntarily and suppressing something he willed to keep hidden. The sight unnerved him and he stopped moving completely.   
  
"Can't even have a romp here, Potter, without the family interfering?" he sneered, though not quite as harsh as it sometimes sounded. Malfoy slipped into the only manner that ever made sense with Harry--blunt condemnation. What else was he to do with a sobbing male, of whom he'd been enemies for the last several years, and probably more to come? "Of course, you do live with Muggles..."  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Harry lifted his emerald eyes, conveying something deeper than pain, to Draco's.  
  
"Just leave." Harry whispered so softly Draco had to strain to hear his words. The deflated and raw tone unseated him even more and Malfoy turned to leave, confusion etched in his features. An audible, yet suppressed, snuffle stopped him. He hesitated, watching the water droplets now flowing freely from Harry's face. Draco never saw this side of Saint Potter, never gazed upon the real boy beneath the fame, never observed the struggle within him. But now it stood, bleeding and fierce, for anyone to see, anyone to tamper with.  
  
Quite unexpectedly, Draco joined Harry on the bed, and engulfed the other boy in his arms. Draco did not know what possessed him to do such a deed, but he knew, could tell in his gut, that leaving Harry like this would not be right.   
  
Engrossed in his pain, Harry did not realize who was comforting him, only that strong arms that seemed to take away the pain had suddenly appeared and he pressed closer into the body those arms belonged to. Harry's reaction, though unforeseen, relaxed Draco who did not realize how tense his gesture had made him until Harry sank into his side.  
  
Stroking Harry's hair, Draco shushed his crying, rocking with his rhythm, washing away the sting of grief.  
  
"It's alright..." Draco wavered again, "...H-Harry."  
  
The pain became bearable, dull and pulsing, but no longer sharp and piercing. It was almost like a portion of the lead weight on Harry's chest had just been lifted. He could almost breathe normally, almost. He pushed closer to the solid body so near him.  
  
A waft of Harry's scent flowed to Draco's unoccupied nostrils. It lingered there, something of mint and oranges, mesmerizing his senses and rendering him fairly vulnerable. With his arms never loosening their grip, Draco continued to rock Harry and calm his sobs.  
  
Harry became conscious enough to realize whose muscular arms were wrapped about him and he stiffened. Why would Malfoy...Harry couldn't even finish his thought, it was ludicrous. Feeling just a bit uncomfortable, breaking down in front of Malfoy, being comforted by Malfoy, Harry tried to pull away. Draco, lost in the mesmerizing scent of the body pressed close to his, did not feel the first tug at his arms. But the second, with force from hands as well, brought Draco back to his senses. Abruptly, he retrieved his arms and scooted away from Harry on the bed while Harry detached himself from Malfoy's side. Both perched on the bed, a bit awkwardly.  
  
Draco felt as if he lost something, something warm and continuous, from himself. There existed an emptiness within the circle of his arms, and he wanted to fill that void again with... No, that wasn't it. It was, no, he just needed to leave.  
  
A coldness seeped into Harry's bones and he wanted nothing more than to feel the comfort again, the comfort that only... that only... he refused to accept whatever it was that lurked in the corner of his mind. There were others, so many others... like Uncle Vernon... Harry placed his head in his hands.  
  
"Watch it, Potter, you'll stain my robes." Malfoy put all the disgust he could muster into that sentence and stood from the bed.  
  
Harry slipped his head up to peer at Malfoy from atop his fingertips. Conveyed within the depths of his bloodstone eyes was this pain, just too real, there was just too much that time could not erase. Malfoy faltered again, his storm gray eyes knotted with confusion and hesitation.  
  
"Just go, Malfoy. Leave me be." Harry's toneless waves hit Draco like a fist.  
  
"No."  
  
"What?" Harry countered, startled enough to lift his face from his strips of flesh. "Why?"  
  
"I'm not leaving."  
  
Harry stared in shock. "What do you mean, you're not leaving? Of course you're fucking leaving. I'm kicking you out!" His voice grew from a whisper to a heated shout.  
  
"Quiet, Potter, or your...Uncle will be returning," Malfoy sneered.  
  
Harry glared spikes at Malfoy's handsome face, expansive chest...Blinking he growled.  
  
"I'm warning you, Malfoy," Harry stated menacingly, "there will be hell to pay..."  
  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the steaming form that was Harry Potter. He had the decency not to laugh, though it was at himself. A smirk appeared instead.  
  
"Like I said, Potter, I'm not leaving--" he held up a hand to stifle Harry's retort, "because I can't."  
  
"You can't." Harry looked on with disbelief plain in his features.  
  
"Right, Potter. One for the rejected Ravenclaw."  
  
"Now, why would this be? Have you forgotten how to do magic, Malfoy? Suddenly found you've become a Squib? Did a spell with Voldemort go wrongly?" Harry sneered back at Malfoy in bitter shades.  
  
Draco flinched at the name. He never agreed with the Dark Lord, only followed along until he could finally get his own place of residence, out from under his brutal father's grasp...  
  
"Take your pick, Potter, I haven't the patience to explain such complicated doings to something stupider than a slug." Malfoy answered. Draco didn't want to go into details with Harry, details that would leave his past bare, leave his being bare. And just showing his nemesis weakness...it was unacceptable, even if Harry wouldn't, couldn't laugh at it... "Just--just leave it that I'm stuck here. With you."  
  
Malfoy turned and took the seat at Harry's desk. He reached for some of Harry's schoolbooks and began idly flipping through the pages.  
  
"No, I'm not going to leave it. It may try the patience of a nun, but you are going to explain it to me."  
  
"What's a nun?" Malfoy looked over quizzically.  
  
"A nun is a part of the Catholic religion, she--she's taken a vow to never share herself with anyone as a, as a devotion to God," Harry found himself explaining automatically before he caught himself. "Stop trying to change the subject. Out with it."  
  
Malfoy actually seemed pained. Smiling sheepishly, he averted his eyes from Harry's. Strange, Malfoy hasn't ever done that before...Harry thought. He looks rather sexy blushing... Draco began to speak softly.  
  
"I-I--how to put this--you see there's--I just...I don't know my way back home."  
  
At this Harry began to laugh.  
  
"A Malfoy! Not know his way home! That's more a lie if I've ever heard one."  
  
"Oh shut up, Potter. It really is none of your damn business." Malfoy replaced the book and shoved his arms across his chest.  
  
"Come now, Malfoy. You've seen me," a bit of laughing ensued, and he swept the bed with a gesture, "you can surely tell me what's really going on." The mocking light Harry now emitted made Malfoy scowl.  
  
"No."  
  
Harry humphed and lay back on the bed, again staring at the patterns of the peeling paint. Brows knitted in thought, Harry looked very, well, sexy. He bit his lip in concentration, and Draco had the sudden urge to bite that lip himself. Unauthorized, a vision of him atop Harry, both kissing passionately, blocked his normal sight. The heat pooled in his loins, part due to how wrong it seemed and the rest how erotic the kiss would be.   
  
Urgh. What am I thinking? This is Potter, just Potter. Malfoy frowned and turned to the desk, back to the forgotten book. Yes, the book, not to hide the small tent in his robes formed within the last moment. It's Potter! He shook his brain and focused on the text, which happened to be upside-down. Slowly, as to not attract Harry's attention, Malfoy turned the book back around.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
He stiffened, afraid Harry could perhaps sense where his thoughts were. "What?" He attempted at annoyance to disguise his flustered feeling.  
  
"Don't take that tone with me," Harry moved his head to face Malfoy, "You are in my house after all. Well, not too much longer." He stared pointedly at the boy. "I want you out; now" Of course Harry wouldn't give up so easily, especially with Malfoy.  
  
Draco scowled. "Fine! Just fine!" Red hot anger radiated off him as he shot from the chair. Malfoy mumbled to himself as he marched to Harry's bedroom door and attempted to open it. Turning the knob he pulled hard, but the door remained closed. He pushed instead, but still the door didn't budge. A distinct chuckling sound emerged behind him and Malfoy pivoted to see Harry laying on his stomach laughing uproariously.  
  
"It's locked, Malfoy, remember?"  
  
Malfoy morphed into a small shade of pinkish-red and rushed across the room to the window. He slid it open with fervor, and took a last look at Harry.  
  
"Thanks, Potter, for absolutely nothing." And he hopped out the window.  
  
Harry's smile faded when Malfoy jumped, and his laughing abruptly halted. Leaping from the bed, Harry took two quick steps before he could stop himself. Harry, this is Malfoy. He can take care of himself, his father is a Death Eater... but even those words did not comfort Harry's slight uneasiness. But the Muggle world is nothing like our world, he might...but it's him why should I care? He's been evil to me practically since we first met...  
  
Harry went over the number of times Malfoy had attempted to get him expelled, or injured, and all those times he had poked fun at his family and Ron... Right, Malfoy definitely wasn't worth the effort. Harry walked to his desk and sat in the seat Malfoy vacated, picking up the charms book he so carelessly slammed on the surface. Harry read and re-read the chapters he needed for his essay. Time marched on, minutes and hours...  
  
"...and thus Charms, in these instances, illustrate the best use of magic. Wizards worldwide would be wise to learn such tactics to better prepare themselves for--"  
  
A rattling at his door forced Harry to put it in his line of vision. His Uncle appeared between the jambs again, less purple and upset this time.  
  
"We feel you need some fresh air." Uncle Vernon's eyes turned menacing. He thrust Harry a holey and dirty sweater. "Get out."  
  
Harry took in the black slacks and blue-tinted white shirt and tie with dress shoes to match, and deduced that the Dursleys were having company and wanted him out of the house, rather than their excuse for his health.  
  
"Fine." Glad to not be locked in his room any longer, Harry grabbed the rag and walked from the room and straight out the door, without waiting for instructions. He was turning right, down the sidewalk, moth-eaten fabric still in hand, when a voice called out to him.  
  
"Be sure to take a few hours. Four, to be exact." And the door slammed following, blocking the flood of light on the street. It was dusk, and the lamps did not help too much to disperse the darkness as of yet. He had four hours to kill, five if he could manage it.  
  
He stuck his hands in his pockets, draping the garment over a wrist, and strolled down toward the park near his house. Thankful for the many large and leafy trees to hide his progress, Harry smiled to himself. This was a better birthday than most at number four. Normally, the Dursleys would give him something inconsequential and make him do slave labor in the hot sun as celebration of his birth.  
  
Today, however, they locked him in his room, not having to do anything, and then forced him out of the house to take four hours of freedom. The only smudge of the day was the interruption of Malfoy in his room for twenty or so minutes. What was Malfoy doing there anyway?  
  
He did not believe for one minute that he was truly lost. A Malfoy. Lost. Preposterous. Even though Malfoy was underage and it was the summer, Harry knew, just knew, there were spells around the boy to make even the kind of magic he employed un-plotable. A Malfoy lost, ridiculous.  
  
His head bowed and chest bouncing with semi-silent laughter, Harry didn't notice the denser shadow in the tree he was passing. Lifting his chin, a broad grin swept his face as he entered under the branches with a light lively step in his feet. The sun had completely set in the space it took to get from his door to this spot.  
  
"...should know...I worked so hard for it..." there was a bit more muttering, "...can't remember the address...Potter...just a curse..." Harry stopped dead on the spot. Turning his head to the side, he noticed a darker outline pacing near the trunk of the tree. The individual obviously didn't notice his passing due to all his mutterings.  
  
The stranger passed in the lone and tiny beam of moonlight, and Harry was almost blinded by the gleam of white-blond hair that flashed by before the unfamiliar submerged himself in black shadow. His mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged as the identity dawned on him. The other turned and Harry could see his face.  
  
"Malfoy?!" 


	2. Crimson Saliva

**Chapter Two-Crimson Saliva**

Draco froze, not wanting to face the owner of the voice that called him, the voice that belonged to one Harry Potter.

"Malfoy, what are you doing out here?" Harry conveyed surprise and bewilderment in the colors of his expression.

Closing his eyes and stealing a deep breath, Draco pivoted to meet Harry. The storm gray in his features remained hidden by flesh as he slowly answered the boy's interrogatory.

"I told you before. I. Can. Not. Get. Home!" Malfoy became more and more irritated with each halted word. Why didn't Harry get it? Like the force of lightning, the solution had struck Draco hours before lifting the burden and erasing the invisible knot in his brow.

Shock definitely surfaced on Harry's face. The widened irises and drooping jaw illustrated as much.

"You-you mean, you've been out here? All this time?"

"Well, hello. Another point for the rejected Ravenclaw." Malfoy cocked his head to one side and then resumed his pacing. There was a tiny dip and flattened grass in the path Malfoy had traveled the last six or seven hours.

"So, why haven't you, you know, charmed yourself out of this one? Your father? Why are you still here?" So many questions marinated in the back of Harry's mind, but only a few were ready to be grilled.

"Like I said, if you'd been paying attention, it's nothing to you."

Malfoy's hands swung behind him and he entwined his fingers together, still following the path in the grass. _Why does Potter care so much anyway? It's not like I'm at his house anymore._ Malfoy snorted._ No, he took care of that hours ago._

"You're wrong. It _is_ something to me. You were in my bloody bedroom, that makes me involved, no matter how slightly," the Saint Potter was coming out, Malfoy thought, "and there is nothing you can do to stop me from helping you."

Harry furrowed his brows again and lifted his fingers to his hips, unconsciously letting the excuse of a sweater fall to the sun-warmed cement. Draco slowed his pacing and peered at Harry, standing there in blotches of moonlight, appearing erogenous and determined. Again the image of him straddling Harry, kissing passionately, swam unbidden before his eyes, and he looked away, slightly flushed.

"Damn it, Malfoy, just tell me what the hell is going on so I can _help _you!"

"You really want to know, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"So does my father." Draco laughed depreciatingly. "He never knew what happened…" Looking up, Draco could see nothing but the dark entanglement of leaf-engulfed branches. A colorless smile plastered over his face as he angled his head to Harry's, his eyes were a liquefied granite when suddenly they hardened. 

"But, you don't know." Malfoy began pacing again.

"Then bloody explain it to me."

A snort resonated around them. "Do you really care?" The tone of that question signified his lack of expectation for an answer; to Malfoy, the response was a no, for Draco, he didn't want to hear.

Changing his stance, Harry scowled more fiercely. "If I didn't, would I still fucking be here?" The waves of heated impatience pulsated beneath the tree.

That thought made perfect sense. _Leave it to Potter to answer a question with a question_…

"Fine."

"Go on, then."

A released breath, and movement in the shadows illustrated Harry and won this battle. He relaxed a bit, just noticing the acute pain in his formerly locked muscles.

_What do I tell him? I can't reveal all of it, no it's just too—exposing. No, a truncated brief version…yes, that's perfect._ Draco Malfoy cleared his now slightly constricted throat. An iced shell glazed Malfoy's wide silver eyes as he began.

"I was ten, I noticed the change. My father, he didn't _feel_ anymore. He just lost the ability. It began slowly; only verbal at first and of course I was the focus back then. But his ambition got to him, he expanded to the physical and mental too."

Draco stopped, fearing he'd revealed too much even with the skeletal outline.

"Go on. I'm here." A tenderness escaped Harry's lips as he moved toward Draco.

Heart pounding faster, Draco found his mouth dry. He didn't want to continue, that past, the terrible history. A presence reached Draco's senses and a strong, warm pressure rested on his shoulder, and it gave him strength—Harry's strength.

"But then my mother joined in, and I was alone. I saved—ages I did—and I got my own place," Draco smiled thinking of the fifth floor flat, somewhere out there, barred from him until the early morning.

A breeze picked up, blowing away and tenderness in Malfoy. "And now I can't get back there." Frustration and anger hit Harry as Malfoy shrugged off his hand, automatically pacing once more.

"Oh."

What else was there to say? Speaking of getting back would be like completely ignoring the pain hinted in Draco's words. Harry searched the shadowed form, a new light surrounded him, radiating around his body, illuminating the real Draco Malfoy.

That one word, 'oh,' and the breath released within him, his chin hit his chest and his vision became complete blackness. He didn't understand.

Suddenly Malfoy felt betrayed, used. Why would anyone care so much about this? Especially Harry. They had been enemies since their first year. Well, that's wasn't by choice, really. His father had influence. Draco faced Harry, the sole ray of moonlight displaying Harry's features. What he saw there melted his resentment and another vision flashed before his eyes.

Harry on the flattened grass, shirtless, lips bruised from his attentions, bathed in the dim moonlight… Draco's grays widened as he realized the physical effect of the picture and he turned away. Something burned in the silver eyes Harry glimpsed and estrus poured through his veins. A magnetic pull, much like that of a Portkey, tugged at his hips where he took several steps toward Draco and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

The retuned pressure whipped Draco's face to Harry's. Harry watched something other than Draco's eyes and he descended upon him. Their lips met within the shadows, beneath the leaf canopy, under the stars.

A wave flooded the atmosphere around them as restraint and hatred left, as history and grief were forgotten, where all that remained was this suppressed yearning.

Draco turned his body into Harry's and wrapped his fingers around Harry's waist as Harry's searching palms found broad shoulders.

Floating in passion, both gave and received the pressure of the kiss. Harry felt a slick brush across his lower lip, Draco's tongue requesting permission. An answering sweep and Draco slid in, tongues tangling within the cavern of Harry's mouth.

More than mere desire passed between them, something strong and tangible, yet unnamable. Pressing nearer, Draco flitted his fingertips up and down Harry's sides, eliciting a slight shiver from him. Draco smiled into the kiss.

With their bodies so close together, Harry could feel a rigid line along the crease at his thigh. He was sure Draco could feel his own, the knowledge adding to the erotic moment, under a tree, in virtually plain sight.

A swift brush of tongues and Draco groaned deep within his throat. The sound intensified as the movement was repeated, again and again. Draco wanted to return the pleasure, needed to hear the returning moan and shifted his hands to Harry's muscled chest, gripping and pressing in all the right places.

The reward was more than a growl, for Harry broke the kiss and trailed his lips along Draco's jaw, following the line and down his neck.

"Harry."

The breathless, husky whisper flowed from his mouth as the sweet pressure persisted at the base of his throat. The slick muscle whirled in spirals along with nips and bites. The sensations nearly brought Draco crashing down. The demand of his protruding member strained painfully against his flowing robes.

Harry's fingers slid from shoulders to hips as he continued the pleasurable torture on Draco's sweet neck. The sounds of their encounter echoed around them in a place that was not a place in a time that was not a time.

Another guttural groan resonated through the air.

He knew his son was near, could sense him close by. The deep blue shadow cloaked Lucius as he apparated onto Privet Drive, the pale light directly elucidating the brisk night. Slow echoing footsteps trailed his high-rimmed boots while the mistral wind was trapped in the caverns of his black cape.

Gray crystals observed the surrounding azure shades and icy nooks, seeking his son. He prowled the proximate streets as well, hunting for the frosty blond head when he caught a sound lingering in the shadow.

Lucius iced a path nearer the magnolia, and detected cobalt profiles within the undergrowth. A soft movement and the moonlight reflected first sleek blond then ruffled black. Realization chilled him as he lingered as dense as the blue gloom encasing him.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I will make certain you collect your just desserts."

Falling brows hid the bitter stare as…

CRACK!

The foreign sound ricocheted sliced through the thick sultry ambiance and both boys shot apart, both breathing heavily.

"What _was_ that?" desire laced Harry's panting tones as his fingers itched to return to Draco's flesh.

"Who cares?" Draco, spellbound by the magic of their passion, reached for Harry, who slipped just out of his grasp.

"Wait, it might have been someone from the Or—another wizard." The moment vanished and Malfoy dropped his arms. "We should get you home, I'm sure you don't want to be here."

_Of course, Saint Potter knows how everyone feels._ "Right."

An answer not in protest or assent, it killed something within Harry's chest and his features transformed to mask a new pain. It flickered in his eyes before his lids hid them from view.

"Er, what area did you rent the place from?" Hollowed and raspy, Harry spoke to his shoes.

Malfoy thrust Harry a contemptuous look before speaking.

"It's near the London area, close to the Thames." He pushed away any reply with a graceful gesture. "I already know how to get back. But, I have to wait until the dark of the morning."

Harry blinked, twice. A grunt and he folded his arms. "You let me believe you were stranded here." And he thought there was a new Malfoy, one who felt pain and knew hardship. Was the last just a façade?

"No, I didn't tell you I had it figured out." A smirk appeared, but quickly vanished as Draco finally caught sight of the emotion in Harry's eyes. It was carnal, yet he couldn't quite place it. "I'm apparating back."

"Why didn't you do that before?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No." Harry's pain was being replaced by irritation. "You have to spell it out for a slug."

"Less than a slug, Potter. The flat is charmed un-plotable, un-apparatable, all that other stuff. My father _is _a De—" Malfoy recovered just in time, "intelligent wizard."

Though Draco loathed his father with a passion comparable to that of a few moments ago, he wouldn't admit the truth to Harry. He'd already been in Azkaban for a time, Draco still would never divulge such information voluntarily—Lucius was his father.

"Right." Harry shuffled his feet, another awkward moment passed. "I'd better get going then…"

He looked up at Malfoy, hope gleaming within his eyes. Malfoy saw the gaze, Draco noted the emotion and cracked an imperceptible smile.

"Right."

A faltering and then failed grin flickered on Harry's features and he turned and began walking to the park again. _What have I just done?_

"Hey, Potter."

Harry twisted back, surprised.

"You dropped this."

Draco tossed him a dirty rag. Harry caught it, and faced forward again, taking another step.

"Potter…"

Harry halted. "What?"

Draco hesitated, he didn't know what to say, only that he didn't want Harry to leave yet. Going over the six or seven hours out here, alone, Draco could touch the emptiness. And then there was Harry, flushed and swollen lips barely visible, almost identical to the image of him on the grass, perfect companion for the few hours ahead.

"Do you think you could turn around? It's hard enough—" Draco smiled at the double meaning. Harry must have caught it too, for his shoulders were shaking.

Spinning quickly, Harry glared. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

_A lot more than you think_. Where that thought originated, Draco refused to discover. Cocking his head to the side, he considered the question, trying desperately to find an answer that would keep Harry here.

Harry recognized the hesitation and the darting gray eyes. The folds in his brow smoothed and he smiled, slightly mocking.

"Do you want me to sit with you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy jumped, and glowered. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Potter could read minds. His immediate reaction was to deny it completely—he moved his mouth to voice his protests, but remembered that he really did want Harry to converse with him, and since he was the one that offered, in a way—

"It might be nice."

"Might be?"

"I won't beg you, Potter, if that's what you're after." Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

He just shrugged and spread his arms wide. "Why don't we walk to the park?"

Malfoy inclined his head and moved to Harry's side. Harry released his arms and began leading the way. Malfoy fell in step next to him, and they walked in pregnant silence all the way to the edge of the square. Harry stopped and removed his beat up shoes. Liberating his toes, he made fists in the sand and let it slip from his feet into tiny piles.

"That's interesting, Potter. How old are you? Five?"

"Shut up, Malfoy. You are only here because I invited you along. The rules say you have to be polite."

"Since when did we ever go by rules?"

Harry scowled at the truth in that statement and marched to the two swings off to the left. He picked one and plopped onto the seat, rocking gently back and forth, staring up at the clear night sky.

"You are such a great host, you know? Making sure your guests are occupied and happy…" Malfoy had waltzed over to the other swing and slid on it.

"Yeah, but I don't have any guests right now."

He fell silent, still looking at the bright stars and non-existent clouds. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he could sense Malfoy's presence the few feet away, and it made his lips tingle with expectation. Only, he couldn't do anything about it; just feel. Malfoy didn't really want to be here, or with him—he just wanted to be with someone.

_And I was the only one nearby._ Harry sighed and watched floor-ward, to the thick and clumsy patterns in the sand from his toes. The image disturbed him, and he set off swinging slightly, the creaks of the chain echoing in the air.

A high-pitched moan reflected Harry's own emotions, the sharp tone symbolic of his frustration and the groan a likeness to the moments under the magnolia. But Malfoy didn't want him, not like he wanted him. Harry's flesh screamed for contact with pale skin and his lips ached for sweet pressure. His body thrummed with wanting, completely directed at one Draco Malfoy.

The stillness of the air, broken only by the screeching of Harry's swing, unsettled Draco, who just perched on the rubber strip. There seemed to have been such desire beneath that tree, the moment was beautiful, under the moonlight, engulfed in fervent embrace. The exotic and open action sent frozen shivers down his spine. Why had he broken the spell? And a spell it was…the magic woven by none other than archenemy Harry Potter. The fascinating movements of his tongue on flesh, his talented hands roaming the planes of muscle all interweaving to create the perfect bind to craving.

Unexpectedly, Draco stood and moved around the set, to the small stretch of blacktop in the back. He stood, hands clasped at the small of his back, the thousand-mile stare apparent in his eyes. The glaze still intact, he bent and picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingertips as he paced.

There was much more than met the eye with Harry, and Draco wanted to discover and explore that something. The pebble soared from his hands, arching and bouncing off Harry's neck.

"What was that for Malfoy?" Harry curled around the chain and glared at him.

Draco's brows shot near his hairline. "Oops." He smirked and plucked another, sending this too flying to Harry's third eye.

"Ow!" Fingers flew to the area and rubbed gently. Harry jumped to his feet and leaped after Malfoy, a smile on his face. Draco dodged Harry, no problem, and moved farther back, grasping a few more pebbles on the way and pelting Harry's kneeling form. The one-sided dominance soon became a full-fledged battle, both boys running and assaulting each other with pebbles, laughter reverberating through the park.

Harry rushed to the plastic jungle gym and hid within the bars and slides, ducking in the shadows hoping to throw off Draco's sense of him. He crouched low and slowly moved around the edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sleek form…

Footsteps sounded, quiet and slow, Harry knew Draco to be just around the corner, waiting for that slip of body. Harry smiled to himself, he'd get him first, the sweat of anticipation lingering on his lips. Slowly, his face reached the corner. A few more inches and he'd see Draco searching for him. He tensed his muscles, closed his eyes, made ready for the attack. In a swift movement, he whipped around the corner, albeit silently.

No Malfoy. Strange, he should be there. Harry's brows furrowed and he slinked back, standing straight under the plastic platform. He turned around and took a step, bumping into something hard, something solid.

Draco.


	3. Scarlet Language

Chapter Three—Scarlet Language 

Draco.

In an instant their bodies made contact, and the world focused sharply and existed solely around them. The rest of the park faded away; there was no such object as a swing, a street, a housing tract. In the world, there was a four-foot square of sand and them—Harry and Draco, together in the night.

Harry delved deep into Draco's silvery eyes, shining brightly from the excitement of the fight. A reaction quickly presented itself, and Harry's lips parted slightly. _If only Malfoy could feel this too…_

The brush startled Draco and he dove into the sphere of desire. He flamed inside, wanting more than breath to feel Harry beneath him, and his hands ached with the effort of resistance.

On silent agreement, both boys stepped away from each other. Harry averted his eyes, now finding the support pole quite fascinating. Draco continued to stare, an unreadable expression painted on his features.

"Sorry, I—I, you…" Harry began.

"Yeah."

Draco smiled and moved out of the constricting plane of passion. The headiness of the sensation was hurriedly becoming addicting—it was more than intoxicating, Harry's orange and mint scent wafting through the air between them. He returned to the swings and sat again.

Harry stole a steadying breath before he, too, took the swing again.

"How did you come to be here in the first place, Malfoy?"

A slight blush appeared in his cheeks. He'd been in his new place, putting his personal items around, on the shelves, setting up the tables and furniture, when a particular object caught his eye and he thought only of Harry. It was the "Potter Stinks" badge from the fourth year. Draco had watched from the sidelines, admiring and in awe of the amazing performance Harry had done in the tournament and marinated in envy. His only venue out that would keep his façade for his father was the badges. He was so engrossed in the memories, and the badge charmed in such a way, that in a flash he had been transported to the same location as object of his thoughts—Harry. It was the Transmotre charm, fairly easy to complete, and he did it on accident.

"A sort of subconscious charm." He turned away, "Do you always come here?" and effectively cut off the subject.

"Usually, yes, when I'm allowed out of the house. The Dursleys are some of the worst Muggles on earth—be glad you've never met them."

It was nearing midnight, the designated time for Harry's arrival home. But he promised himself that if he could manage it, he'd be out for at least another hour.

"What time are you going back?"

"I'm waiting for early morning, one-ish."

Harry merely nodded and gazed out at the blue-black blanket of night. Draco pushed back in the swing, and stood there, poised to begin the pendulum motion if released. From here, he could stare at the raven hair and stretch of neck without Harry really noticing.

But he was wrong. Harry felt his eyes on his neck, burning and warm and erotic all at once. Stiffness crept into his body at the simple thought, the sheer action. Lids fell and a few deep, deep breaths were thieved. A sensation of swelling spread, and upon exhale, instead of releasing the pressure, it became more intense.

Harry tensed, the feeling was so acute, so hard to contain. It nearly took the small amounts of breath he had away to just remain sitting on the swing. _Fortunately Draco can't see this_ echoed through Harry's mind as he struggled against the most natural thing in the world—running into Draco's arms.

Draco tore his gaze from the creamy flesh of Harry's neck and stared at the moon. _Around eleven fifty—half-hour more_. Gripping the chains, Draco removed his feet from the ground, releasing the support and swept back and forth. Harry nearly sighed with the liberation of the stare and his shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. A soft wind brushed past him every time Draco reached the apex of the motion, carrying with it a sandalwood spice.

The silence of the deep-ocean dark was disconcerting, but Harry could not bring himself to break it with idle conversation. Meaningless words that would pass between them were not worth breaking the symphony of sensations that passed between them.

The moans of Draco's swinging chain and the brush of his feet harmonized with Draco's soft breathing, barely audible above the bass sounds of the nature around them. Harry's heart contributed the percussion and the olfactory sensation of sandalwood created a musical adventure greater than Beethoven's works. Harry reveled in the sway of the beat, softly beckoning and lightly laced with passion.

"Harry."

He was abruptly dragged out of the drugging wave of the melody and blinked.

"Yeah?"

He was a bit startled that his object had called him by his first name. Malfoy never did that.

"It's time."

He just nodded, the silence beginning to grow. Harry wanted, needed to fill that hollow with words, drew breath, parted his lips to do so. But nothing would come. The words he needed would not materialize in his brain, he couldn't think of anything to say.

Draco watched the indecision flash across Harry's features, and stepped forward, halted. He brought up a hand, and stopped abruptly. He divided his lips to speak and couldn't do it.

"Harry…" The softest whisper, more like the wind than a voice.

Harry looked up. Draco looked deep into Harry's eyes as he leaned in closer. His eyes shifted to Harry's parted lips as his mouth came into contact with his. This kiss held a different timbre than the past one, sweet and promising, like an "until we next meet" parting. A hand held the back of Harry's neck as the kiss lengthened.

Draco lightly brushed Harry's bottom lip with his tongue before he pulled away, eyes still closed and his fingers whispered on Harry's nape. Harry floated back to earth and opened his eyes just in time to watch Draco disapparate.

"Draco."

*     *     *     *    *

Malfoy apparated in front of his wood door, brass number 24 drilled onto it. He looked behind him, and to the sides as well, ascertaining the Muggle population about him. There was no other. Sighing relief, he took out his wand and, quickly as wizardly possible, opened his charms and unlocked the door with Alohomora. He didn't have his key on him remembering the path of travel.

He stepped into the flat, when a sudden chill raced up his spine. Not the heated kind, like with Harry, but the variety he had when his father was near. He quickly turned and pointed his wand in front of him. No one was there.

Draco quickly shut the door and replaced all the charms. Then, with his back to the securely locked gateway, placed his wand on his palm. He whispered a spell and his wand levitated a few centimeters from his flesh. It emitted an azure color and it began rotating in smooth sweeping movements. This seemed to calm Draco remarkably and he muttered something else and replaced his wand in his robes.

He moved into the center of the front room and smiled. The décor radiated an essence of Draco, grays and black splashed with silver in an altogether masculine atmosphere. Thankfully, with the strange talent he possessed, the black did not overpower the room, and thus it didn't seem depressed or cheerless, only calm and relaxing.

Draco continued on through the hallway and into his bedroom, the identical color scheme throughout the flat. In the span of ten minutes, Draco flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling, bare back and gray pajama pants sliding on the silk sheets.

Images of Harry swam like a motion picture before him, across the ceiling, imprinting in his mind as the flowed past. The soon moved onto this night, Harry washed in moonlight, Harry kissing him, Harry laughing, and the last, Harry's fiercely green eyes after the kiss just as he disapparated.

The images had swelled him, stiffening his body, and the final reflection nearly unmanned him on the spot, it was so intense.

"Oh, God. Harry…"

Draco stood and visited the bathroom before lying back on the bed and drifting off to sleep punctuated by frighteningly handsome pictures of he and Harry making zealous love.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry blinked after Draco, completely confused by his last action. He was just about to speak those words that wouldn't seem to come, and Draco had gone. With slothful steps, Harry made his way to number four, thinking consistently about the Parting Kiss. 

Why had Draco done it? Harry was sure that he would have left without making such a lasting impression. That kiss was supple and warm, full of pledges and wanting. Now, Harry's body burned with a desire for Draco's, a passion for his touch, a taste for his flesh.

Turning the corner, Harry found himself at his doorstep. He must have been really engrossed in thought, for he felt he'd just left the park. Slowly, so as not to creak the door, Harry stepped through and locked it. He treaded carefully up the steps, skipping the bottom, because it groaned.

Upon entering his room, he became overwhelmed with exhaustion. Lids drooping, he barely was able to crash on his bed before he was asleep completely. This night he was not plagued by horrid nightmares of death and destruction, but lulled with pictures of ardent kisses and fervent embraces.

Nearing four in the morning, Harry woke, slightly cold. He'd left the window open from Malfoy's exotic exit. He padded over and closed the glass. Turning to return to the bed, something glinting caught his Seeker's eye—a thin, almost invisible chain of platinum with a larger gold clasp. 

He picked it up and set it near his glasses, he'd get a better look at it in the morning, for there was still much time to get some sleep…

"Wake up!"

Vigorous shaking and extreme bellows jerked Harry from his dreams and he bolted awake, only to discover Uncle Vernon's blurry purple face inches away from his own. Harry felt the wind of air as Vernon shouted at him again.

"That ruddy owl! Get it out, get it OUT!"

Uncle Vernon gave one last shove and stormed out of the room, banging the door open as he left. Harry could hear Hedwig below screeching and flapping.

Grabbing his glasses as he jumped from the bed, Harry ran down the stairs to Hedwig. He knew his Aunt and Uncle, and they probably weren't being very civil to her right now. And sure enough, he entered the kitchen as Aunt Petunia was chasing Hedwig around with the broom, screaming.

"Stop! STOP!"

Harry rushed forward and waved his arms. The screeching stopped and Hedwig flew to Harry's shoulder. He placed a reassuring hand on her feathers as he looked to his flustered and angry relatives.

"I'm sorry, but she wouldn't have hurt you." He looked at his beautiful snowy owl and a smiled flickered across his face.

"That—bloody—bird—I swear I'll…. GET IT OUT!"

There was no need to tell him twice. He grasped Hedwig and ran up the steps and into his room. A few short minutes later, seventeen locks found their way home. The owl dropped something on Harry's lap as he sat on the bed. Hedwig flew across the room, now perching in her cage.

Lifting the envelope from his thigh, Harry stared at his name emblazoned on the front, and then the crest sealing the parchment on the back: Malfoy.

*     *     *     *    *

Draco lazily stretched and twisted, releasing all his strong muscles as he awoke to the gentle song of the bluebirds outside. He smiled, remembering all the dreams he had and the most peaceful sleep he'd had in ages. 

Throwing back the covers, Draco curled his legs off the bed and rested his feet on the floor. One more stretch of the shoulder blades and he waltzed into the bathroom for a shower. A full throttle HOT knob and much steam beginning to form, Draco pulled off his bottoms and reached back to unhook his chain.

Only, the necklace wasn't there.

He began to panic, real panic. Turning off the water, he raced around the house searching in every nook and all crannies. He nearly tore apart his beautifully decorated apartment in search of the charm, for that is motive for alarm. It was part of the many enchantments and spells he placed around his space, only this was for his person, so he would be protected at all times, no matter the location, no matter the form of travel. This necklace was his invisibility cloak for his father.

After an hour of frantic hunting, no necklace turned up. _It must have fallen off while I was with Harry._ Draco didn't know what to do. He couldn't leave, for his father would pick up on his scent. There wasn't a way for him to contact Harry, for he didn't have an owl of his own yet (he had to leave his first at Malfoy Manor, he was too easily marked). It was perhaps possible to enchant another piece of jewelry, but many of the required herbs he'd just run out of.

He might just have to risk it, and apparate to Harry's. But there would be much time for his father to sniff him out if the two did not find the necklace immediately. There were many places that the chain could have slipped off, in Harry's room, his backyard, along the way to the tree, the tree…he smiled at the memory…to the park, the swings, the whole park really, Draco thought, for they had that little pebble fight…

Just as Draco was about to give up hope, a several slight taps resonated about the flat. He looked to his kitchen window, and, amazingly, Hedwig flapped around wanting to be let in.

_Smart bird, Harry's._ Draco shot from the couch and whipped open the window. The snowy owl fluttered onto the kitchen table and stared pointedly at Draco. She looked ruffled and faced her backside to him. Draco glanced down and realized he forgot to put his pajama bottoms back on.

"Sorry, just a moment."

Draco come back with his lower half decently covered and a piece of parchment and all other stationary requirements. Quickly, he scribbled a note to Harry, concerning the necklace and it's safe return. He began folding the letter when a high pitched and piercing screech halted him.

In a strange sort of communication, Draco deciphered that Hedwig wanted to hear what the letter said before she would take it back to her master. Thinking this a bizarre request and even more bizarre that he understood, Draco related the note in full to the owl. He was folding the parchment again when another of her screeches paused him. With the same communication, she relayed her disapproval and told him he needed to find another way.

Malfoy's face bunched with irritation before Draco finally understood what she meant. Rushing back to his desk, he grabbed another piece of parchment, scribbled a new note, read it aloud at another shriek, placed it in an envelope and sent it off with the beautiful bird. He watched her fly off into the brightly risen sun.

"Please come," Draco whispered.

Smiling, but slightly nervous, Draco walked back to the bathroom and showered. Getting out, he put on his robe and strode to his wardrobe. It took him an hour to finally get an outfit together, at which time his hair had gone dry. He inspected his reflection in the mirror, deciding his hair lollopped about in a rather fetching manner, and settled to leave it as is. That was when he glanced about the flat and remembered the state it was in from his perusal.

Over the course of the next few hours, Draco tidied his place and set a bit of a romantic air about, with a few strategically placed candles. He relaxed into the couch, took out a deck of cards, and began to wait.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry was stunned, a letter from Draco… Hedwig hooted softly and Harry gazed up at her.

"You went to visit him?" his voice was all astonishment.

She hooted again in reply. Harry carefully opened the envelope, succeeding in not breaking the sealing wax and pulled out the parchment, reading.

Harry,

I've misplaced my necklace in your company yesterday. It is a very important piece of jewelry and I must beg its return. 

If you would search for it, I cannot express my gratitude. It is a light chain, made of platinum with a gold clasp.

I cannot leave my flat, and to ensure the safety of the necklace, I would like it if you brought it to me. Your owl, she is very smart by the way, knows the directions and she can lead you here. Be sure to put the necklace on before you go, and leave when you know it to be safe. Thank you.

                                                                                                Yours,

                                                                                                            Draco Malfoy

Harry's jaw hung near his thighs as he finished the letter. A necklace? Where would it be? The two had gone all around yesterday, it could be anywhere. Harry began perusing his room when he came to the window and turned to his bed.

It was a sense of déjà vu, he remembered doing something exactly like this last night, and he picked up something shiny. Harry walked to the spot on the carpet he found the thing, and followed his hand to his night table.

There it was, the beautiful chain he saw glinting in the moonlight. It belonged to Draco. Harry picked it up and felt it shimmer from hand to hand as he poured it into his palms. Of course Harry would go, how could he not? An anticipation filled him, and though there was a Hermione-like voice in the back of his head lecturing him on the safety of such a choice, he ignored it completely. What held his attention was the last on Draco's letter.

Yours. What did it mean?


	4. Murderous River

Chapter Four—Murderous River 

*The best word is employed this chapter

Harry took the chain and placed it around his neck. Thankfully, the threats of Mad-Eye were severe enough to allow Harry to keep his wizarding things open and accessible, if not out in the open. He moved his Firebolt from the closet to a strategic location: the crack between his bed and the wall, under the covers.

The snores from the Dursleys and the nice cloudy sky rendered this night perfect for the escapade. Glancing at the clock, it read 11:34, Harry moved over to Hedwig and opened her cage. She flew out and hooted softly.

"Shh, Hedwig. You might wake them." He brushed off her anger with a stroke of her feathers. The window was soon opened and Hedwig glided out, soaring around the house. Harry quickly grabbed his Firebolt and stuffed some clothes between the sheets, a rather lumpy representation of himself sleeping. But the Dursleys would never notice, they didn't pay that much attention to him; it was just a precaution. In the wardrobe was also his invisibility cloak, which he wore as a preventive measure.

Harry moved to the window and checked around the grounds for any sign of a waking or strolling Muggle. To luck, there was none, and he mounted his broomstick, zooming off into the clouds.

Hedwig followed her master through the fog and hooted her approval at his speed. He wouldn't slow her down.

"Lead the way."

*     *     *     *    *

It was nearing midnight and there was still no sign that Harry was coming. Draco paced a bit in front of his couch, hands slightly sweaty. It wasn't like him to be nervous, but then this wasn't a normal circumstance.

The candles were glowing throughout the flat, low and soft, casting quixotic shadows. The radiating heat caused a grin to flicker across his face. Draco looked like his rather sexy self: gray button-up cotton shirt, black slacks and socks. His strides were relatively large, stretching the pant material tight across his callipygous form.

He could have come ages ago… what if he couldn't find a way to get here … what if he didn't want to …what if…

Draco plopped on the couch, nearing hopelessness when a knock sounded in front of him. He jumped up and rushed to the door, quickly counter-charming and unlocking. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and cleared the entrance.

*     *     *     *    *

Hedwig led him to Draco's kitchen window where Harry watched him striding about his couch. He smiled; it looked like Draco was nervous. He flew to the front of the building, and realized that he couldn't just take off his cloak and appear here when Muggles might be all about, watching. He decided to wait a while, for another Muggle to go in and follow on his broom.

Through careful observation skills, Harry ascertained that Draco's rooms were on the fifth floor, in the eastern corner. Thank goodness for astronomy, or else he never would have found the flat.

Tonight was just a lucky night, for just then a Muggle came walking up with her boyfriend, Harry assumed since the two were kissing and holding hands. This affected him in some way, making his stomach flutter and anticipation rise. The girl opened the door to the building and held it ajar while she lengthily snogged the man. Harry and Hedwig were able to swoop in undetected.

Even better were the open stairwells near the elevators—for how would an open elevator, holding no one, close and move up the flights? Harry flew up the winding steps to the fifth level. He pulled out his wand and recalled a spell from the Tournament.

"_Point Me._"

The wand swirled and pointed north. Harry moved right, all the length of the corridor to the last door. A sign posted there stated "Open House next Friday." It must be on the other corner. The corridor did not go to the other end, so Harry went back to the staircase and down the left side passage, turned left, flew down that hallway, made another left and arrived at the last door in the corridor with two brass numbers, 24.

Checking the hallway, and finding it empty and quiet, Harry dismounted his Firebolt and pulled off the invisibility cloak. He draped the garment on the handle to hide the broom and rapped on the door.

A slight pause and then some mutterings could be heard, finally terminating with the clunk of the Muggle lock. Harry held his breath as the door slowly parted with the jamb. Framed in the golden light was Draco, a fetching Draco in sleek clothes that accentuated his already handsome body and sprawling hair defining his intense silver eyes. Harry was in awe; Draco was deiform in a halo of his magnificence.

Staring at Harry, absorbing his appearance, Draco was breathless. The windswept raven hair and sparkling emerald eyes lit up his striking features just as his loose t-shirt and slightly baggy jeans highlighted his muscled person. Draco noticed his arm sort of bulged out strangely, like Harry was holding something.

"Come in, come in." Draco stepped back and allowed Harry access to the flat.

Harry flittingly smiled and followed Hedwig inside, uncovering his Firebolt and invisibility cloak to rest them against the wall. Draco closed the door behind him and the clunk followed by more mutterings ensued. Harry took a seat on the couch.

"You came."

Looking up, surprise exuded from his features.

"Of course I came. You asked me to."

"Is that the only reason?" There was a guarded look in Draco's eyes.

Harry considered, he didn't know how much he should reveal. Was it worth a rejection? A pitiful stare? A laugh?

"No…" softly spoken, Harry kept his watch on silver.

A smile spilled over Draco's mouth and he captured the seat next to him, Harry following with his gaze. Draco scooted closer, until their legs pressured together, and leaned in.

"I hoped not."

Their lips met in a searing kiss that stole the breath from them both. Draco's hands flew to Harry's jaw as Harry's grasped his neck and thigh.

A thousand things came crashing in Harry's mind even as pleasure steeped his body. The juxtaposed sensations, mind and body, battled in a quixotic field and Harry could not think.

Draco brushed his thumb along Harry's jaw and it brought a piece of balance to his thoughts. Indecision embraced him—_was this a joke? Is Draco just displaying his power over me? Can this be real?_

Sensing his hesitation, Draco began mentally to pull back and slowly released the physical pressure. Confusion seared him as he tried to fold his mask in place and a sinking heart fell to his stomach.

…Yours…

_This has to be real_. There is no other reason Draco would do this, especially after the Parting Kiss. It is true there exists something between them, something better than anything he's felt before.

A withdrawing of pleasure broke Harry's idleness and he pushed forward, retaining the force and began to slide his hand along Draco's thigh, the soft fabric of his pants caressing his palms.

Relief and something more flooded Draco's being and his spirit lifted, singing in happiness. His hands drifted down, grazing Harry's torso and resting on his hips. Fingertips made contact with heated skin and Harry's throat vibrated with delight.

Draco twitched his fingers and dragged Harry's shirt up, exposing flat, muscled stomach. Up, revealing the hard plane of chest. Harry gasped and pulled back, giving Draco access to yank his top off. The necklace glinted in the half-light.

Pale hands met locked muscle and Draco sighed in content. Harry could not stand much more of that sweet agony without giving in return. His hands slid ceremoniously up Draco's solid length to the highest button of his top and magically worked the clasps open. Reaching the bottom, Harry splayed his palms across Draco's abdomen, eliciting a guttural moan.

Harry smiled at his power and slipped his hands up, spreading the panels and exposing creamy flesh for fingertip enjoyment. He pushed the shirt past shoulders, forcing Draco to move his arms and strip the garment from him. Scooting nearer, Harry pulled Draco closer, bodies only centimeters apart. Heat radiated between them, sending each higher into the plane of desire.

Lips came and met, breaking for harsh breath and conjoining once more in a golden spiral; each new contact brought more to their mutual pleasure. Draco pressed Harry back, mouths still touching until they lay flat on the couch. Harry's hands roved the planes of Draco's flesh as he wrapped his jean-clad legs around narrow hips. Harry was overwhelmed with the sensation of Draco on him, around him. The heat inundated his senses and tunneled to include solely Draco and this moment.

Draco deepened the kiss and explored the hardened muscles of Harry's chest and arms. Such power always restrained, only released during the exertions of Quidditch… Draco needed to know how those muscles would perform under a different sort of exertion.

The passion drowned all images and most thought as both ran on instinct. Hands moved and caressed, groans echoed through the flat and kisses appeared over all bare skin.

Harry dragged his fingers down the rigid planes of Draco's font and tucked them into the waistband of shifting pants. So near contact with the throbbing desire, a long deep groan escaped Draco's occupied lips. Harry flexed his extensions against Draco and the kiss broke. Harshly drawing breath, Draco delved into passion saturated emerald eyes. He wanted to tell those eyes something, but fingers contracted again and the words were lost. He dropped his mouth onto Harry's and kissed with a fervor that brought Harry near the edge.

"Let me, Draco."

The breathless words, dripping with need, barely registered in Draco's conscious. He kissed his assent and rolled on the couch to place Harry on top, the chain swinging and catching the small rays of light from the candle flames. Those tormenting fingers moved quickly at the clasp and soon his slacks were completely discarded, leaving Draco proud and erect and solid.

Leaning forward, Harry captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss as the tip brushed his stomach. Draco writhed at the contact and hissed in pleasure or pain, Harry couldn't tell.

Moving down, Harry took the shaft in his grasp and squeezed slightly. Painstakingly slow, his fingers whispered across the velvet flesh encasing steel. Touches spread feather light from base to tip. Draco gasped and attempted in vain to teach Harry's hands how to stroke him.

"No, no. Just wait…"

He continued with the less than satisfying ministrations until Draco nearly screamed in frustration and pleasure.

"Bloody hell, Harry, please." Malfoy never thought he would break and beg Harry Potter.

A lopsided grin spread fetchingly across Harry's face, and he acquiesced, increasing the pressure and gripping him fully. He was completely entranced by the contrast of the soft skin and iron strength of Draco and his eyes grew wide as he pleasured his Dragon.

A double change in weight and pace had Draco panting and moaning as the estrus built higher and higher. The dry friction, though painful, added to the intense sensation so acute and strong. It felt like all blood from every place in his body had rushed to a focus at his member, pulsing and burning in Harry's hand.  A tidal wave blocked by glass creating a force so strong and powerful that within a matter of moments, he exploded. The river of desire hurried forth and poured over Harry's hand, easing the pain and slicking the movement.

Harry pumped until the last stream of seed erupted from Draco's heaving body. Leaning forward, Harry stole Draco's breath with a long searing tongue battle. Pulling back Harry closed his eyes and sat on his heels, moaning.

"Help me." Harry fumbled with the button on his jeans as Draco eagerly lifted up and reached for him.

Knocking hands away, Draco managed to liberate him and push the jeans to his knees. Without any signal, Draco took Harry in one hand and weighed him with the other. Harry gasped in shock at the relief and strain that filled him.

"Only a bit more…"

Harry grasped Draco's reviving form as he held back a bit longer. Both moved swiftly, excitement building and pooling when together they came, fulminating as one. The room filled with the mutual scent of love, though neither male could recognize the emotion for its truth. They collapsed together on the couch and Draco wrapped his arms around Harry.

Recovering a bit faster than his partner, Draco wiggled from beneath Harry and stood. Gazing down at Harry in his rest, Draco could feel a tug at his heart. He took Harry's arms and draped them about his neck and lifted him to the bedroom. Stripping Harry of his jeans, he pulled back the sheets and joined him on the bed.

They slept engulfed in each other's arms until sunrise.

*     *     *     *    *

SCREECH!

Draco awoke with a jolt to discover Hedwig flying and screaming incessantly around the bedroom. He noticed the half stirring sun and then the sleeping form beside him; he smiled. Another high shriek focused his mind and he realized what time it was.

"Harry… Harry, wake up."

Draco stroked his back as Harry began assembling his wits. Virid eyes flashed open and Harry hummed as he rolled over. He arched and sat up.

"Good morning…" realization dawned and the eyes widened. Draco smiled sympathetically.

"You better get back."

"Before they notice I'm gone."

Harry removed himself from the bed and pulled on his jeans. Something bounced on his collarbone and he remembered the necklace. Moving to the stretching Draco, Harry leaned in and kissed him tenderly. He unclasped the chain and replaced it around Draco's succulent neck.

"Shouldn't forget that now," He winked and walked to the door, following an unfamiliar path back to the entry room. A few moments later, he had his shirt on and his Firebolt and invisibility cloak together, and Draco strayed to the doorway, watching him.

"Come back tomorrow?"

Harry stopped and stared at the lithesome figure that was Draco. He grinned impishly and picked up his things.

"Of course."

Hedwig flew into the room and landed on the back of the couch. She shifted around impatiently and Harry stroked her head. Draco glided over and planted a last kiss on his— Harry pressed close before the kiss broke, both flushed and glowing.

"Until later."

Harry grinned and put on the invisibility cloak as Draco opened the kitchen window. Mounting the broom Harry called to Hedwig and the two flew out of the flat and away home. Harry watched behind him as the image of Draco minimized with distance while Draco stared after the only person who had given him happiness in last ten years.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry just managed to crash into his bedroom, conceal his magic items, and change for bed before Uncle Vernon was once again upon him.

"Your Aunt has several chores for you. Go and see her." His purple face seemed to get purpler by the day.

Getting dressed again, Harry made his way downstairs where he was told to paint the garden bench, weed the flowerbeds, cut the grass and wash all the dishes.

"And I don't want to have to tell you to do it again. Make sure you do it _right_ the first time."

"Like I ever don't the first time." Harry mumbled as he set about cleaning the plates. At least here, he wouldn't be disturbed, and his thoughts could have sovereignty. The first set of images that came to mind was that of last night, and Draco.

Harry blushed as he remembered his forwardness, and then the pleasure afterward. Shouldn't wanting a man for a lover be weird? Most boys his age liked girls and were sort of taught to be homophobic. There was tolerance for the homosexuals in the community, but it was definitely not encouraged.

No, Harry didn't feel weird. It was just like waking up and in a sense, seeing the world from another perspective, the right perspective. Besides, weren't the same-sex relationships much more romantic and involved than the heterosexual types? Harry recalled the few couples he'd seen in his life: Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, not the best example as they didn't seem to ever really touch each other in a more than friendly manner. There was also the crush-type relationship, where Ginny came to mind. That was not a very promising relationship either, as he didn't return her feelings.

And then there was Draco. His heart skipped a beat. There seemed another facet to this relationship than the others, something he liked very much and made him smile though his hands were pruney from so much washing. Sure the first was a bit awkward, but Harry evoked the memory of Draco in Madam Malkin's robe shop, and though he was rude and a bit snotty, there were other feelings he hadn't recognized until now.

Yes, with Draco, it was different, better, happier. A twinge startled Harry from his reverie, another something he couldn't quite see, but certain it was good and deep. It had been uncovered recently, for it was novel, and yet it was ancient, like he'd had it forever. A grin plastered over his face at the thought—something antique to be treasured…

On that note, Harry completed all his chores without complaint, perfect the first time, and with wonderful films of Draco playing in his mind. Time passed rapidly, for it was nearly seven as Harry wearily climbed the steps. Aunt Petunia had come to speak with him about something in the garden, but he hadn't paid much attention—a particularly exceptional moment was passing—and he missed what she'd told him.

Moving to his bedroom door, Harry dragged his feet. He was hot, sticky and in definite need of a shower. Behind the door Harry grabbed his towel and crossed the hall. It was eerily quiet, no Vernon bellowing over the television, no Dudley screaming for more ice cream, no high-pitched fake Petunia laugh.

Harry tossed the cloth onto the countertop and leaned down the stair rail. The hallway was unusually empty. With much regret, he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. The knobs on the stove were gone, the cupboards locked, glass removed…

They left. Oh my bloody Lord, they _left_! Of course, they wouldn't trust me with any of the necessities of the house. Shaking his head, Harry followed the call of the shower up the stairs and to the bathroom. He could take as long as he needed, wanted, no stupid Dursley commanding him out.

Within minutes, Harry was completely naked, drenched in hot water and easing his muscles. He lathered himself, rinsed, repeated… it seemed there was no end to the dirt encrusted on him. Soon, after emerging from the stall, he dried off and toweled his hair. As he wrapped the cloth around him, he heard a laugh, not really loud, or like anything of the Dursleys'. Could it be--? But the magic…

Cautiously Harry slithered across the hall and into his room where he jumped in shock.

"My, Potter, you take forever in there. Are you that slow or do you," Malfoy raised his brow, "do a bit more?"

Harry blushed indignant and red. "No. What are you doing here? I thought I was coming to see you tomorrow."

"Oh, you will." Malfoy scavenged Harry's body with his eyes, and smiled elfishly.

"I will; that's a bit cocky, Draco."

Malfoy started at the use of his first name.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?" Confusion was foremost in Harry's mind. He didn't expect Draco to change, but he at least thought the irate banter would cease. In truth, Draco wouldn't be Draco if not for the banter in general, however the disdain could be eliminated, Malfoy could go.

Malfoy shook his body. "Yeah, yes, I'm fine." Draco stood and moved fluvially to Harry. "May I get you dressed?" He tugged at the towel; it began to slip and Harry caught it deftly.

"Sure." Forehead crinkled in slight mystification, Harry followed Draco's gesticulated orders to sit on the bed.

Draco moved to the wardrobe and drew a drawer out. He scrutinized the contents and sighed. Removing an old yellowing t-shirt, he turned to Harry.

"You _wear_ this?" Malfoy wrinkled his nose at the garment. Returning to the wardrobe, he didn't notice Harry scowl.

"Really, you don't have anything, do you?"

"You don't have to remind me. I know the Dursleys won't—only Dudley's old things," Harry growled moving over to him, "Move." He pushed Malfoy from the front of the drawer and pulled out some worn blue-striped bottoms.

Malfoy switched to the bed and leaned on his elbow, watching as Harry drew the pants on under his towel. A smile crept across Draco's face. "What did you do today?"

"A whole lot of nothing—you?"

He looked toward the ceiling and shrugged with his lips. "The usual. Gosh, this is a nice place you've got here…" Malfoy stated with disgust.

"What's gotten into you?" The complete insincerity of Draco's company shocked Harry. It was almost as if—as if last night never happened…He didn't understand. Why would it hurt so much? Like a slab of steel on his chest…

It should be different. Two people couldn't share something like that and then go back to the exact same routine. Something had to change… why was Draco fighting it? The change should be wonderful, something for the better.

Malfoy visibly shook again. "Nothing, nothing." Thoughts flew through Draco's mind. What was wrong with him? He knew he was acting horribly to Harry, but there wasn't a reason for it. _When did I ever need a reason for it?_ The whole situation seemed awkward and out of place. For the two of them to meet and not have some sort of confrontation was just wrong—incomplete.

"It's not nothing. You're being a jerk."

"When am I not?"

"Come on, Draco."

"What?" Blissful ignorance spread across his features.

Harry made a grunting noise and threw his towel on the back of the desk chair. "Fine, go on and be just like you were before: an arrogant git."

"An arrogant—is that what you thought of me?"

"You never noticed?"

"At least I'm not a Saint."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come off it, Potter, you are a Saint: Hero Potter, Star Seeker, Never Kissed Before," a somewhat dramatic pause, "The Boy Who Lived."

_He may never have been kissed before, but he sure knew what he was doing under that tree_… Draco felt like two people. Inside, the Angry Harry was turning him on and the episodes together kept creeping into mind, outside, he was his old self, bantering and teasing Harry to no end.

"You know I'm not like that." Resentment permeated every syllable of that declaration.

"Yes, I do."

This was one of the most confusing exchanges Harry had ever engaged in. He couldn't quite grasp the tact Draco flew and that made it difficult to paddle one of his own. "Then why did you say it?"

Malfoy shrugged.

Harry threw his hands in fury. "You—you just—you are such a—a …" the frustration welled and he couldn't even speak. Draco stood from the bed and glided in front of Harry. Taking his hands in his, Draco drew Harry close and kissed him.

Silence stole reign as two mouths were conquered with searing passion. The action befuddled Harry's mind and he barely had time to react before Draco broke the contact.

"Forgive me." His lips captured Harry's and the kiss lengthened fervently as their fingers entwined. Strange it had only been fourteen hours and yet Draco felt starved for Harry's lips. Soft, muffled vices caught Draco's attention and he slowly, reluctantly pulled away from those luscious lips.

His hands rested on Harry's hips and he tugged, bringing him closer. To identical iron rods pressed between them.

"They're home."

Draco leaned his forehead against Harry's. "Please come," tilting back, he pierced emerald eyes with silver. "Please."

With one last kiss, Draco apparated out of the circle of Harry's arms.

*     *     *     *    *

He paced in front of the coffee table, oblivious to the screaming pot on the stove, and the incessant popping of corn in the, what did the Muggles call it, microwave? The people on the box, though frozen like ice, looked to be having fun. He smiled; it took hours of disguised observation, but he managed to understand how Muggle money worked.

It was nearing midnight and candles lit the place to a soft glow. He waited for Harry to tap at his window, anxious again. Yesterday he'd gone shopping for more ingredients to make another necklace, well actually two.

One was a spare, to be kept in the house for the rare occasion that he lost it again. The second was for Harry, that he could come undetected any time of day or night. Picking the piece to place the charm on took careful calculation and intuition. The witch in the Shoppe wanted to help him, asked him several times who the lucky lady was, and insisted on informing him the history of every piece.

After perusing the place for an hour, Draco caught sight of the perfect chain. Inquiring after it, the witch appeared huffed. She almost wouldn't sell it to him. The story behind that chain, she said, is despicable. Draco requested the tale, which she relayed to him in an air of reluctance; but he saw the eagerness in her eyes.

Supposedly the necklace belonged to a grand lady, a pureblood of her time. She was engaged to a rather ill favored gentleman with wealth and power, though he was a pleasant sort of man. As soon as her parents had informed her of the betrothal, an unhappy atmosphere settled upon the household. For the Lady loved another, an inferior in her parent's eyes, and she wanted to be with this man more than life itself.

The man gave her the necklace as a form of his undying love to her and continued about his daily business. She snuck out with him several times in the weeks before her wedding and came to the conclusion that she would rather spite her parents and throw off the gentleman to live in complete happiness without the promises of wealth.

Three evenings before the day, the Lady educated her family of her intended elopement and apparated to her lover's side. They married and lived together until the end of their days.

"Why is that story so despicable?" He'd asked. The witch was stunned. The Lady had betrayed her family and her duty to indulge herself in a nobody. The woman was obviously a pureblood that believed solely in the ties of family and blood.

Draco bought the ornate silver chain and took it to the flat with the other he purchased. The apprehensive gleam in his features appeared again as he thought of the risk Harry was taking, not only with the Dursleys, but his father as well.

Relief came minutes later with a resonating knock on glass. He rushed to the window and pulled it open for an invisible Harry to fly through. Shutting the pane, he barely had enough time to turn back before Harry was upon him, kissing his breath away.

Draco laughed. "Well, hello."

"Hello." Harry resumed kissing him.

"I have something for you, Harry." His name was a whisper and sent shivers down two spines.

Harry pulled back and let Draco lead him to the entry room, where he was presented with a green-velvet encased box. Surprised, Harry glanced at Draco with sparkling emerald eyes. Draco smiled as he opened the box.

An intake of breath sounding from both, each for different reasons, spiraled with affection.

"Oh my god, Draco," he looked up at him, and then back, "it's beautiful."

Draco finally exhaled and took the necklace from the box, and proceeded to place it around Harry's throat. It gleamed along with Harry's smile.

"Thank you." Harry reached for him and wrapped his arms around Draco, more emotion dripping from the embrace than anything he'd felt before.

When Harry at length released him, tears overflowed the rims of those emerald eyes. Within their depths was expressed a gratitude and an amazement of many years past. Harry hadn't ever received such a gift…one for no specific reason. There were the beautiful gifts from Hagrid and Hermione, the fabulous presents from Mrs. Weasley, and the Firebolt from his Godfather—but nothing like this. Nothing like the phenomenon witnessed inside the hoary silver eyes before him. A bond fashioned of unbreakable sensation formed just that moment, as Draco stood behind him, fingers sighing across his skin, fastening the chain about him.

"It will protect you, keep you concealed from unwanted notice."

Harry's hands reached up and smoothed the string along his collar, to contact Draco's. He turned in the hold and pressed himself to Draco. A deep pounding pressured his body, and Draco felt it, felt more as the emotion exuded from the person compelled to his. How such affection could be real, Draco did not understand, only that he shared in the emission and clung to Harry in his own need. It seemed to rain within the flat as two faces became wet with salty tears.

Words withheld via breath as it escaped through the kiss. Their lips connected as they hadn't done before. A new discovery, how deep affection ran, how it had always been there, elicited by a single act of sincerity. Proof of the affliction existed in Harry as Harry, no longer 'Potter.'

His name permeated his thoughts and waking moments, his dreams and half-wakings. The enemy hatred had disillusioned the crush for too long, and it grew to fruition within the last few days, for it was allowed free reign. The swell expanded within Draco's heart and he finally recognized the emotion for what it was—love. Yes, love, for no other reason would have compelled Draco to concern himself over Harry. The safety of this person far exceeded the desire for his own; Harry became his sole interest.

The epiphany frightened him a little: what if Harry didn't reciprocate? What if he couldn't keep him safe? The control was out of his hands, and that lack unseated him. He was unable to—to do much. Harry was his own person, knew how to care for himself, and had survived You-Know—well, Voldemort, five times at least.

But that didn't matter. The road could always have an unsuspected twist or object hidden by a shadow, and with time handling the horses, he could not be certain of the course.

However, all that had significance lay within the ring of his arms right now. He reveled in the drop of influence he owned here, and kissed Harry ardently. The four streams remained as their tongues dueled and their hands roved the skin revealed by forgotten clothing. Slowly, Draco progressed their bodies to his room where they tumbled onto the bed engulfed in emotion.

Harry grasped Draco and smoothed his thumb across his tip, "Make love to me, Draco."

The question rang in silver orbs as his fingers raked down Harry's heaving chest.

"Please."

A deep prolonged kiss answered any doubts for either mind as Draco clumsily prepared Harry's body. As neither of them had done this before, each only had a vague idea of what to do. But soon enough, Draco was buried to the hilt between his legs and within the estrus of Harry's body. It was tight, oh so tight, and satisfying.

With such tenderness, Draco pumped slowly, ensuring the least amount of pain to his lover. Harry never felt anything quite like this: the ache of the first, and the pleasure of Draco. He relaxed and gave rise to expansion as the strokes became less painful. With the expertise of Draco, the enjoyment soon overtook all else, and Harry became warped in the plane of desire.

Draco felt the easing of Harry's body and increased his tempo. He could touch the rising desire of Harry between them as he moved within the slick embrace. It deliberately brushed his abdomen as he repeated the action. The sensation was powerful, acute and built like the sound barrier as he thrust faster and firmer. The moment procrastinated, forcing anticipation and excitement forth as the swell waxed to fruition. And suddenly it crashed around them both, filling each other so absolutely with the sheen of emotion it glowed as a halo around the bed.

Draco moved until the last of his seed burst from his body, and fell exhausted next to Harry. Panting he draped his arm over the abdomen next to him. This is the epitome of glory, happiness… Draco couldn't believe the sated sensation about him, or the completeness of his soul that infused his body. Balance encased his senses, everything was right with the world and he had the one person that perfected nature, humans and him. Harry Potter, arch-nemesis, saint, lover, and love…the flawlessness of the moment, of Harry—the emotion welled too great to contain and Draco felt water streak his pale cheeks. He smiled through his tears and rolled into Harry's side, pulling him close, needing him close.

Harry eased at the pressure around his body, the heat pervading his senses. So ecstatically unaware of the turmoil passing beside him, floating in the aftermath of bliss, many minutes passed before he registered the cool wetness on his shoulder. The peace about him almost refused his senses admittance of that pain; but something now attached his heart to something, no someone, and he happened to be nuzzled close to him, weeping.

The surreal sight of Draco Malfoy lamenting silently, as if he were afraid to break something, closed a vise around Harry's heart and it wrung painfully severe. It was all he could do to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight. With the last of his strength, Harry placed a kiss at the crown of silky white-blond hair before both drifted into dreamless sleep.

Within a bustling city full of promise and affection, opportunity and hope, screaming teapots and cold popcorn, Harry and Draco shared a moment of epiphany and something akin to defeat.

*     *     *     *    *

It was three days. Three days since his discovery of happiness. Harry Potter burst into his life and in three days later, here he was: sated, happy, joyous, elated and fearful. Could what he be feeling true? Such a deep passionate love contrive in three days' time? In any normal circumstance he would most heartily disagree. But, this, this wasn't normal; he was dealing with Harry Potter.

Seconds like these, a holograph of Harry presented itself before him and Draco would reach out his hand, caress imaginary cheeks, stroke a pretend jaw line. Positioned alone on the couch, Harry's image would appear, sitting near him, and he would lean in close and then closer…

Eventually, the cool air would break his quixotic trance and he would be left with his aching torso and breathlessness. He would remember three days and imagine Harry only induced through the mists of fervor to care anything for him. 

Did they move too fast? Would Harry come back? Should Harry come back? Certainly Draco loved him, knew it from his violent reaction to Harry's mere memory, but was it worth risking his love's life to be with him? His father… there was definitely a space in the future for a slip and Harry's subsequent injury. Could he chance it? If he did accept such an endangerment, could he handle the responsibility if Harry-if Harry… No, he couldn't even imagine. The meager thought brought a gush of fluid to his eyes and his chest—

But Draco couldn't keep away from him either. Whichever choice seemed like death, in the same way. It was possible to wait; his instincts were quite sharp.

*     *     *     *    *

Tuesday dawned bright and splendid, sunshine trickling through the rips and tears in the bedroom curtain. Today is a special day; the Dursleys had their family programs this evening and would be leaving Harry to himself. So, he could slip away without alarming his non-interested 'family'.

This, of course, was why he'd arranged to meet Draco after dusk today.  One of the lampposts on the street had burnt out yesterday, and the repairman wasn't due until later in the week.

But the hours between rising and dusk were numerous and Aunt Petunia again had a load-full of chores for him to complete. Dusting, vacuuming, washing the list went on throughout the house. If Harry was to be sure to make it on time, he better get a move on.

Most of the work wasn't that terrible, he didn't mind vacuuming or washing floors, but dusting—of all things he loathed most it was dusting. But he was smart and got those chores done first. An hour before sunset Harry finally finished everything on the list. At least he had some time to clean himself up…

*     *     *     *    *

Malfoy awaited his partner underneath the small tree next to the broken light, whistling to himself softly. His black cloak covered his jean and t-shirt clad form as he leaned back against the frail trunk.

Soft footfalls called his attention behind him, and within the shadows, another figure appeared. Harry.

"Good evening, Potter." He sneered.

"Hello, Malfoy." Diverted by his tone, Harry shot it back.

"Your, if you could call it a family, kick you out?" A smug air flowed within his words.

"No. And it's none of your business." Harry mocked his timbre.

"Could it be your lover, Potter? As if you'd have one." That sneer never seemed to fade.

"Oh, but I do, Malfoy," Harry replied silkily, stepping closer. "I have an incredible lover."

"And who would be with you?" His words owned a slight breathless tint as Harry progressed toward him.

"He is standing right in front of me." Harry was now centimeters away from him. "Draco." He leaned in, quantum by quantum, breath by breath.

"I love the way you say that." The anticipation got to him and Draco closed the fraction between them, pressing his lips to Harry. This kiss was short, but promising, and Harry led the path to the park.

"Do you, Draco?" He smirked.

"Yes," Harry tripped suddenly, but was deftly caught. "Clumsy as always, ay, Potter?"

"Well, if it were you, Malfoy, you'd have fallen and broken your nose." Harry taunted back.

"But I have perfect eyesight, and would have seen the root, unlike _someone_ I know." He pushed the glasses perched on Harry's nose with a leer.

"And yet you lack coordination, and have tripped anyway." Was the countering remark.

"Do I? It seems to me I have better coordination than that, if I remember Saturday correctly." Draco observed the blush that crept across Harry's face and grinned.

"I hate to admit it, but you do remember Saturday correctly."

"Of course, I have picture perfect memory."

"So you recall everything? Even the feeling?" At this, it was Draco's turn to color.

Reaching the sand, the two made their way to the swings again, rocking side by side. This night was cool and the air brushed their faces as each came forward and their necks as they flew back. From an observer, the pair looked like scissors swooping open and closed.

The pressure wind as they passed each other mingled their scents. Draco knew the slithering oranges and mint while Harry reached the furtive sandalwood. It tickled his senses and suddenly he felt Draco all over. He knew his aura, his mood, where he was, could perceive his muscles working—he was completely aware of his every move.

Draco became intoxicated by Harry's clean scent. If he remained on the swing any longer, he feared he might just fall over. With fluvial movement, he swung forward, shifted his weight to the front, and flipped himself off and to the ground, landing with a thump on his feet.

Harry watched with a drooping mouth.

"Come on." Widened green eyes and a ghostly sheen flashed for a moment. "What's the matter Potter? A bit beyond your talent?"

Determination replaced pale cheeks and Harry swung backward, placing his mass in his lower back, and pulled his legs over his head. He back-flipped off the swing and landed crouched forward with bent knees. Straightening, he observed a look of approval on his lover's features.

"Not at all." He smirked.

Draco walked to Harry and brought his arms around the other boy's waist. "Are you sure it wasn't a fluke?" Another soft kiss passed in a moment. Smiling, he drew back and traced his fingers along the light chain around Harry's neck.

"And where did this come from, Potter?" His voice lacked its usual haughtiness but was laced with breathlessness.

"Someone exceedingly unique gave it to me." 

"Really? Was it your dreadfully handsome boyfriend?" Harry laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Malfoy, my _dreadfully_ handsome one." A hand floated up to caress Draco's cheek. "I wear it all the time." The fingers lingered there.

"How appalling, to wear one piece of jewelry every day…" The touch was expanding something in his chest, and it was becoming very difficult to speak.

"Not when it's something like this." Smiling, Harry drew Draco's mouth to his. The moon appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating the park in soft white light, which danced around the lovers like a parade.

He paced along the elegant azure rug in the marble office. Frustration leaked off his body in waves to crystallize in the walls about him. Never had anyone escaped him for so long: a succinct sighting and then nothing for days.

He flashed his teeth in a snarl, and coming upon his desk, proceeded to tap his fingers casually. Even the second object managed to evade his detection. But the second was much more accessible than the first…and could be employed to his advantage. A strategy planted itself in Lucius Malfoy's mind, and he convened with parchment and quill behind his writing table.

*     *     *     *    *

"When can you come again?" Draco whispered as he undulated next to Harry.

"Mmmm, next Saturday, but… I'm free on Tuesday…" Harry replied sleepily and breathlessly, due mostly to the writhing body next to him.

"Yes, like the last two weeks." The silver satin sheets about them slithered in harmony with their bodies as Draco moved closer to Harry. Watching those emerald eyes darken with passion tugged the threads of Draco's center and he smiled. The grin caused two limbs to draw his lips to Harry's where sparks danced and blinding sensation spread throughout his body.

As he pulled away, Harry's eyes remained closed and his arms drooped to the mattress. Draco gazed on at him in repose. Harry looked like an angel without the weight of the world resting on his brow, almost carefree. The invisible chain connecting him to Harry seemed to wax stronger as fear gripped him.

Lucius never allowed attachment within the family—as a child, his father burned his blanket while he watched on, wailing. Narcissa couldn't hold her son, or barely see him as he grew older. Draco never had pets, and his possessions—the items that were not heirlooms or still latest in technology—were purged at least once a month. He learned never to grow accustomed to anything in his surroundings; for within the next hour, they could be gone forever.

Draco's hand moved unbidden to the crook in Harry's waist. Unconsciously his fingers curved in circles and dragged his palms over the exposed skin. It was as if his fingertips were attempting to memorize the feel of Harry, the curves of his body, the silk of his flesh, the contours of his muscles. Silver orbs rose to beatific features and provided the virid shade of his eyes behind those lids. Eyes that gave an impression of something akin to affection just hours ago.

But he could be wrong. Lucius accounted for that—never giving Draco a chance to see love or fatherly pride. He was able to see pride in events or success through those crystal eyes his father owned, and shame and loathing, but nothing else. The memory of Draco's portrait flew to mind. Months had passed before Draco had completed his first painting: it was of his father, taken from remembered images. It wasn't perfect, and there were several places for improvement, but he took pride in it. Near a still photograph it was, and he presented it to Lucius a few days following completion. His father looked at it, frowned with disgust, and then tossed it in the fire.

His hands continued their perusal and memorization—Harry's right bicep was slightly larger than his left. Draco gazed at his lips; they knew how to pleasure him in more ways than one. Fingers fluttered to there and traced the bow, the corner, their moisture. Harry must have felt it, because those lips automatically kissed his fingers while he remained resting. The extensions smiled at such treatment and traveled to raven hair, to sweep and caress. A sigh escaped Draco as the silky mass slithered by his palm. His hands brushed down and fell away into the crevice between them. A loss came over Harry and he subconsciously groped for Draco's hand. Finding his object, his fingers tugged Draco's palms back to his flesh. His mind then quieted and he was peaceful once more.

Such perfection, someone like Harry—could he really risk this? Risk him? Ample spells surrounded him and his dearest, his Harry, but Lucius was so very skillful at taking everything from him.

Suddenly his hands clutched Harry desperately, afraid to let go. They caressed with a possessive air as he moved so close that his forehead contacted Harry's brow and his bottom hand snaked under Harry's waist. The other pulled Harry's arm across his torso before resting at his neck. Draco drifted into an uneasy sleep, though blanketed in security.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry woke to a slit of sunlight across his face, and entangled in Draco's arms. A smile bloomed on his features as he gazed at the beautiful man in his grasp. Draco was nothing but magnificence, pale skin smoother than satin, snow-blond hair softer than silk and silver eyes brighter than the sun. He was so undisturbed in slumber, something he hadn't seen on him since, well, ever.

But, he had to leave, before the Dursleys awoke to find him gone. Not that they would be worried, only upset that he couldn't clean today. With near-silent commands, he magicked over a quill and parchment, scribbling as inaudibly as possible a short note to Draco. Quietly and delicately, Harry unraveled from Draco's arms and slipped from the bed. The rustle of his jeans as he pulled them over his bare legs covered the whimper emitted from Draco's lips. Turning back, Harry placed a gentle kiss on his love's brow before making a soundless exit to Privet Drive.

The wind whipped through his ebony hair as his Firebolt took him homeward. A smile, one greater than that American wonder, the Grand Canyon, spread across his face. Balance seemed to finally situate itself into his life. Draco would always be there, no one would take him or convince him to leave.

The two had climbed a mountain, a mountain of impulsive emotion and a roller coaster of events to come out triumphant at its peak. Voldemort himself could not even break the chain that bonded them together. Everything was perfect—especially Draco.

His heart fluttered shamelessly at the thought. Emblazoned in his mind were the moments they spent together. Each caress, every sensation, all passion forever within a seconds reach. Harry could recall every inch of Draco's body. Most people didn't know, but Draco had a tiny indentation on his right-hand index-finger knuckle.

No one knew how fascinating it was to take Draco's hand and rest his appendage in the web between the thumb and forefinger. It was a perfect pocket for Harry's thumb. The feeling that infused his body every time he brushed Draco was unlike anything he'd ever known. No one looked at him the way Draco did, and it sent shivers down his spine at the meager memory.

He wondered if his own eyes did the same, gave Draco something to tighten his abdomen with secret pleasure. He wondered if the same emotion overcame Draco whenever he thought about him. As Harry passed over a small stand of houses, he began to analyze that emotion, and what it meant.

It was a hot, sinewy male body reaching urgently for another. It was penetrating kisses and worshipful caresses and sensations that shook the soul. It was stunning, bright pleasures and sultry, stirring murmurs of passion that set fire to nerves and stripped away all the should of's in life. It was more than a passing glance. 

It was Harry's primal response to Draco's desire. It was breath. It was heart. It was spirit. It was Harry. He was in love. Smiling to himself, content and safe in the world, Harry flew the last mileage to number four.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry didn't come. And to Draco it meant only one thing: his father had done something. Sheer panic rose in his stomach and he ran through his apartment gathering anything and everything to get him back.

He opened the door to the Manor and rushed to the torture room he knew was below, but had never seen. The scene that greeted him stilled his heart: Harry crumpled on the floor in a lake of blood. Absolute terror, anguish and defeat permeated his marrow as he looked at his love. His scream rattled the carved stone supports—

Draco sprang up in bed, panting audibly and maniacally. He moved his hand to his sleeping lover—who wasn't there. A black void, complete with nothing but emptiness, endeavored to engulf him. The suction started with his chest and pulled, harder and harder. _Lucius took him! He stole him away!_ That panic from his dream commanded his control and he jumped from the bed. He barely noticed the letter with his name on it. Rationale began to push away the alarm as the parchment touched his fingers, and he calmed enough to shakily open it.

I'll see you on Tuesday. I am impatient already.

Harry

Guilt bubbled in his stomach as he read the message thrice more. It could happen, threatened to happen every moment they were together. Harry wasn't safe with him, never could be. His father, even so far away, still managed to manipulate his life. Though the ache to defy that manipulation, he couldn't escape it and Harry was not someone he could even consider endangering.

The menace was real, tangible, and volatile. Draco crouched on the floor, a flood of tears sweeping down his face. There was only one thing he could do. One thing to keep his Harry safe, even though it would tear Draco apart.

*     *     *     *    *

Malfoy leaned against the sapling and went over the plan in his mind. Ears strained for even the slightest sound from Harry. He fought frantically to keep his façade in place. Years of training from his father aided him greatly, though the emotion he had to hide here was more than anything he'd ever dealt with before.

The soft footsteps echoed behind him and he straightened. _Performance time_. Harry grinned broadly as he came closer, and Draco inwardly whimpered. _This is going to be so difficult_. Malfoy turned to face his nemesis once again.

Harry joined him in the soft light of the street lamp and put his arms around Draco. Malfoy silently pushed him away to arms length. The contact sent frissons up his limbs.

"We need to talk." It was nearly impossible to keep the deadened tone from his voice, but he managed.

A slightly alarmed look painted over Harry's features. "Alright." He reached for the other boy's hand, but Malfoy snatched it away.

"I don't want you anymore." A sneer appeared at these words. Training did have its advantages—Harry didn't even detect the crumbling spirit within Malfoy's shell.

"What do you mean?" A tortured expression broke the alarm.

"Are you too much of a slug, Potter? I mean, I don't want you." His features were cast in stone, but the manifestation of death in Harry's eyes nearly sent it to dust.

A small snort, "I don't believe it." He took a step forward, moving to capture his hand.

Malfoy took a step backward, like the attempt burned him. Disgust crossed his lips. "Well believe it, Potter," he spat, "whatever you think, it never was," the quick deep breath nearly killed him, "and NEVER will be." Inside, his chest exploded into a million shattered pieces of glass embedding itself in his lungs and ribcage. His breathing nearly stopped.

Draco watched as Harry's face fractured and flooded down to raw angst and disbelief. His spirit died as Harry sank to his knees. 

The constancy and joy of Draco pulled from beneath his feet caused Harry to stumble at the peak of the mountain. He stared knowingly down into the depths below where expectation swam before his eyes. He was foolish to believe this would last forever. Sirius was stolen from him, so why not Draco as well? He was destined to be alone, lost and desolate.

Harry's mouth worked and emerald eyes pleaded as Harry struggled to say something, something that seemed so very important, but he couldn't find the words.

He had to end this, this torture. "Good bye, Potter, eternally." With a last sneer, Malfoy turned away and took six steps. His mask finally slipped, and just as he apparated away, the tears spilled soundlessly down his face.

Harry couldn't accept the last minute at truth. But the ground flew to meet him as his body fell from that peak. He crashed into reality and the anguish was unbearable. It was like one thousand daggers had loosely lodged themselves in his chest while he drowned in a vat of lemon juice.

The moon poured light down on his figure from above. And as he looked up to stare at the blue-white globe, his eyes were hollow—like he had just received the Dementor's Kiss.

*     *     *     *    *

Harry floated mechanically through the next three days. As the sun set on the fourth, the Saturday he was supposed to meet Draco, the void in his bosom opened to consume him. Every moment he memorized replayed in his mind's eye as he fell to the hardwood floor. Sirius wasn't even there to comfort him, talk to him, give advice to him. There was no one, no one—

Lupin. Lupin had picked up Sirius' reins, though not to take over his role, just help. Harry could speak with Lupin; at least, sharing is supposed to aid the healing process. Dashing to his room, tears blinding him so he moved on memory, he passed the shadows plastered throughout the space. Quill grazed parchment as Harry scrawled his letter.

Dear Remus,

I need your advice. I just had a relationship end, but I don't think I can accept it. I mean, I think about this person all the time, and I remember everything we spoke about…

…I even think this person more than liked me, it was in their eyes, every moment implied, but never declared…

If you have anything to help, please send it back soon.

Love,

Harry

He watched as Hedwig flew off into the darkening sky, her white feathers just a dot, and he stood there, vacantly fighting off the tears that threatened to engulf him. Harry could no longer see her when a cool black encased hand calmly gripped his shoulder, rendering him immobile.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," the arctic drawl of Lucius Malfoy reverberated behind him.


	5. Gory Sweat

**Chapter Five—Gory Sweat  
**  
The aura of the man billowed about him like an arctic chill. Even through his gloved hand on my shoulder the cold spread. But the sensation didn't alter much, the vacancy inside welled as his cold endeavored to conquer. The words like frost stir past my ear, but I just stare ahead, ignoring the shadow behind me.  
  
"We shall take leave, you and I."  
  
That iron grip propels me from the window and through my open door. Silently, he ushers my body across the hall, down the stairs--but what did it matter? The Dursley's would never notice, Hedwig was gone; only those wards around Privet Drive would give any indication I've gone missing.  
  
Ice chills my lungs and seeps through my veins as he forces me to take one treacherous step after another. I could scream, call out for my aunt and uncle. I could cause alarm and wake Mrs. Figg. I could make a sudden movement to break his grip and run. I could; but why?  
  
Like father and son, we travel down the sidewalk, his claw on me, directing me, driving me to the end of the road, past the park, down another street to the dark alley behind the Mom and Pop grocery store on the other side.  
  
Lucius pierces me with his slate gaze. "Shall we?"  
  
I realize I face him as both talon-equipped hands clutch my shoulders. And in a moment, the world around us dissolves and remodels itself, like a kaleidoscope before my eyes. We stand in a dark room; I can hear water leaking off in the distance as the distinct smell of forgotten blood and aged skin stealthily assault my nostrils.  
  
My features contort as that man forces me against the wall, raising my hands above my head in the process.  
  
"Welcome to your new abode, Mr. Potter," Lucius sneers as he shackles my wrists, "Welcome to the Malfoy Manor Oubliette." He backs away and my feet make slight contact with the ground. I hadn't known he held me. Now he rakes his gaze over my stretched torso, I feel the manacles biting into my skin as he smiles triumphantly.  
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Potter."  
  
He was gone, and I am alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I awoke to find nothing has changed, except the trickle of light from a window I cannot see. He hasn't come to visit me, no one has, the last four days. This knowledge came to me by that window. I've watched the early morning sun filter through to splash on the floor and the dusky light tinge the stone in orange-gold.  
  
I've practically memorized this place: walls of stone, three shelves on the right. It's like a ten-foot square hole that's been slabbed in granite, sixty meters deep. The place for people to forget about--and Lucius has done a wonderful job with that.  
  
My arms have grown three inches it, seems, as blood drips down from my wrists. But it's nothing compared to the inside. First Sirius, my one hope, my only true father figure. Voldemort, the bloody fucking bastard, utilized my love for him to destroy me. Only something went wrong and he took Sirius as well.  
  
Then Draco came. Annoying, stubborn, arrogant git, he waltzed into my world, and for nearly four weeks, brought life back into my spirit. He gave me something that smoothed the edges of the pain and began to fill that void. It seemed I could become the old Harry Potter, with new experience and someone I loved to be with me.  
  
But that was stolen too. Ripped from me, without a second chance.  
  
"He was mine."  
  
The whispered words escape my chapped lips as my chin reaches my chest. The contact burns, like I shouldn't, like the defeat hasn't full control yet.  
  
"He was never yours."  
  
His arctic drawl sounds in front of me. I can see his cloaked form just meters away. "He is mine, and I will have him home, where he belongs."  
  
"Draco left you years ago. He always-auh!"  
  
Lucius withdrew his fist from my stomach. "Never speak my son's name. It is not for rodents like you to tarnish."  
  
I watch him through gritty glasses sweep around and uncover an array of metal sticks from a shelf. He touches them reverently, whispering his fingertips across the crystalline surfaces before he unclasps his cloak and flays it onto the shelf above.  
  
"You have tainted my son long enough, and it is time for redemption."  
  
Tainted. Perhaps that is what Draco thinks of me. I taint him. Like a poisonous gas he couldn't evade without leaving entirely--I would have killed him.  
  
I struggle to hold back tears of air, for there is not enough water left in me to cry. This man, this creature, will not witness such an act. Though I have lost everything else, my love for Draco and my dignity remain.  
  
A love that will not be returned. Our fate was doomed before we began. And yet, I cannot help but remember the stray fringe that would brush in his eyes after he woke from sated slumber; or the etched lines of passion in his features as we made love.  
  
Is it possible the last month was just an act? Could it have been a conspiracy? I will not deny my mind wishes to embrace this, that I may hate the boy for this pain. But my heart knows better, knows Draco spoke the truth and loves him more for it.  
  
The boiling agony in my shoulder tore me from my thoughts and I cry out. I had been so engrossed, I did not realize Lucius had taken one of those steel rods and approached me.  
  
Now both prongs sink into my flesh, piercing through muscle and hitting bone, like a barbeque fork in chicken breast. Lucius mercilessly rams it further and further into me until it remains erect, unaided. The pressure in my shoulder waxes and wanes with every heaving breath I take.  
  
"And now we begin." Those crystalline orbs flash as he produces a shimmering blade, twisted, like his soul.  
  
It was hard to concentrate on his hands when my shoulder felt as if it were on fire. My eyes have a will of their own and want to keep closed. It was something ethereal to even peer through the slits of my lids into a blurry world of fire to watch Malfoy Sr. as he rips my shirt apart with that crooked dagger, as he tears the scraps from my chest, as he lightly traces lines along my flesh with the icy point.  
  
"Such design--sun warmed flesh." He chuckled as I hissed from the horizontal icicle display of blood trickling down my stomach in addition to the trails on my arms and side.  
  
Against my struggle, I whimper. But it encourages him and even as my face contorts in anguish, Malfoy pounds the fork like a nail with his knife.  
  
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," he pauses to savor the small gasping sounds that slip from me, "where is my son?"  
  
I strangled a scream in my throat. "It's September," I hiss as he draws on the rod, sliding it out one centimeter from my skin. "You should know that."  
  
"Like father, like son." With one swift movement, he yanked down on the spear and pulled it from my flesh amid my screams, stretching and tearing my ligaments as a new ocean of blood pours forth. I shouted myself hoarse before I collapse, heaving while my scarlet fluids pool at my feet.  
  
"Perhaps tomorrow you will have learned the manners your father never could." He ran his fingers along the rod, coating them with crimson. "Goodnight, Mr. Potter."  
  
Just as he had come, Lucius leaves, silent and cold as the snow.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A roaring in my ears of rushing blood and a blinding pain awoke me some hours later. My head pounds and my features feel like they are slowly being boiled off. I open my eyes, but only so far, they've swollen slightly. The pounding near my temples increases as the light penetrates my slited lids. After the blazing white dies, I can make out a pacing form. Lucius Malfoy's pacing form.  
  
He appears completely disheveled, and I chuckle only to gasp in torment as my chest severs and my sides tear. His hair is in disarray, strands wisping about everywhere. The normal attire of immaculate robes has gone, and he stands in his elegant cream and white clothing, attempting the angelic nobleman.  
  
In his hand is a glass, short, frosty and filled with amber liquid. Brandy attacks my nostrils as the blurred Lucius stumbles toward me.  
  
I recognize mumbling through the ringing in my ears before my lids slam shut and I squeal in pain. He punched me. And from his ramblings and alcohol stained breath, he's been doing so for quite some time. My screaming limbs and puffy face are evidence enough of that. If a mirror hung in this god-forsaken place, I could most likely witness the dried and flowing blood all over my bruised body.  
  
"...Undermine me!" Lucius shuffles my direction and raises his leather-clad foot. In slow motion, I can only watch as the booted extension makes splattering contact with my shin. Again, I shriek my pain, but he takes no notice. I don't even think he realizes I'm awake.  
  
Fingers slake through my hair and then grasp chunks only to pull ruthlessly. I meet violently frigid eyes as my head jerks up.  
  
"Where's my son?"  
  
My mind snorts, like I'd ever tell you. But I remain silent, and with the little strength I still carry, I reclaimed control of my head. The movement must have done something for he recaptures my skull and his hand drifts over my collarbone, my necklace.  
  
"Well, well, what do I see? A trinket, Potter?" He lifts it from my skin, admiring the chain. "It's beautiful. Too much so for a rapscallion like you."  
  
Had the man been sober, and his words elegantly articulate, this would have infuriated me. But the spittle and imbalance almost made the situation ludicrous. Almost; I am chained to the ceiling and half-naked being tortured by my lover's father. A pinch on my neck and Lucius had ripped the necklace from me and ragefully slammed it to the floor.  
  
Straightening again, he drills into my eyes, then raises his hand and slaps me. The force tossed my head to the side and caused a trail of red from the corner of my mouth and a murderous sting on my cheek.  
  
I keep my head averted and seal my lips, determined not to voice anything. He will not receive any sort of satisfaction.  
  
"I am disgusted." Audibly spitting, Lucius disappears.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Alright. Ten o'clock, I have everything..." even the weight of a broken heart.  
  
But I don't have everything. I don't have Harry. God, why do I keep thinking about him?  
  
"Because I love him." I love him.  
  
My nerves are raw, tense and taught, I might see him again. I both anticipate and dread it. What if I explain to him, about the danger? About everything? That I love him? Could we survive?  
  
But I cannot: my happiness is not valued more than Harry's life, and if I must sacrifice it for him, then so be it. One year I must endure, watching as he finds a girlfriend--probably that Granger. I will envy her greatly.  
  
Walking into the kitchen I grab some breakfast, though I hardly feel like eating. Ten-thirty, time to go. Thankfully I learned that shrinking charm and I spell my effects to pocket size.  
  
Stepping out into the corridor, I glance around, checking for Muggles. The scene melts before me and rearranges into bricks and steam. I gaze skyward, right to a sign that states: "Platform 9 3/4, Hogwarts Express."  
  
My muscles move quickly and I gain entrance to a vacant compartment, where I restore my trunk and secure it. This trip, I would rather avoid my inane morons and keep my own company. Thus I carefully lock the door and seal it with a spell. And as an extra precaution, I conjure one of those tags with: "Sorry for the inconvenience, this area under construction." Now I am certain to be left to my own devices.  
  
The duration seemed longer this time. I cannot count the number of attempts I made at the door, to search out Harry and talk to him, no, just look at him. By now, he must be fine, completely over our "summer fling," but it was more than that. I love him.  
  
The train neared Hogsmeade, I remember the scenery vividly. The normal schedule, changing into Hogwarts robes, scolding Crabbe for soling his stomach with the chocolate frogs, Goyle laughing stupidly and then the pathetic brawl, was absent. Strangely, it felt pleasing to be away from the monotony.  
  
As soon as I finished dressing, we pulled into the station. Now, I just had to catch a carriage; then I could silkily glimpse him from across the Hall.  
  
Wait a few moments for the bustle of students to exit before I withdraw the sign and spell. Stealthily, I remove myself from the train and confidently yet swiftly move to the transport. I can see them in view, lined up and waiting. A few more meters...  
  
"Hey, Malfoy!"  
  
Shocked, I stop. "Yeah, Goyle?" I say in more of a statement, annoyed. I have to put on a show for them. At least it wasn't Harry. I do not believe I could have survived a confrontation with him.  
  
"Where've ya been? We were searching the train for you." Crabbe came lumbering behind him. I turn and face them.  
  
"That's my own business. I didn't want you interrupting." The have seem me use this language before. Hopefully they get the point. Both stare at me like I'm a god. "Well. Let's go." I don't know how I manage it, but I sound as always.  
  
I cannot recall the last minutes, only that I stayed in annoyed silence as the two quarreled. Now I sit flanked by the idiots in the glittering golden Great Hall. We received three new Slytherins--all looking just like I did. Before Dumbledore took the platform, I chance another peek at the Gryffindor table. Harry wasn't anywhere near by.  
  
"So many faces new mingled with old, and all I have to say is..." he claps thrice, "shall we?" With his signature smile he returns to his seat and begins serving himself.  
  
This feast was one to rival the Manor's cook. It would have been perfect, had I witnessed piercing green eyes and striking black hair next to frizzy brown and fiery red. But, Harry was missing. He has to be somewhere on Dumbledore's orders. He is protected by the plethoric wards and spells for anything atrocious to happen.  
  
Even as I comfort myself with these mantras, I know they are fallacious. Something is wrong, dreadfully wrong.  
  
* * * *  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
That is my lullaby every night, the slow agonizing path of moldy water around the dungeons. But I can't even be in the dungeons, can I? No, Lucius has to put me in a bloody oubliette. With one window. And the symbol of our relationship a meter away.  
  
I don't believe Lucius realized the torture in that. Gazing at my prized possession, close enough to note all the detail, yet far enough away I cannot reach it. Just like I can't reach Draco.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape's familiar drone halts my progress to the Dungeons. "The Headmaster would like a word."  
  
I incline my head, whereupon Snape whips about and leads me into the small room adjacent to the Great Hall. The room where the Triwizard Champions convened after being chosen.  
  
"Ah, yes. Mr. Malfoy. Please, take a seat." The Headmaster waves to the couch. "Thank you, Professor Snape."  
  
Snape made a small bow before exiting and leaving me alone with the Headmaster.  
  
"I won't ramble on, and we can do pleasantries some other time. Mr. Malfoy, Draco, do you know where Harry is?"  
  
"You mean, you don't?" Harry is gone. My Harry--missing. Lucius must have him, but how? Harry was so well protected, what happened to the wards? My heart beating fast, and my breath just as rapid, my thoughts turn to the worst--Harry could be dead.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
Harry could be dead, by my father's hand. Bile rose at the thought along with loathing. How am I to get Harry back? Fear and pain rip through my chest. Can I reach him? Planning and anticipation. Will he be all right? Love.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy!" The Headmaster has gripped my shoulders and shaking me awake. "Mr. Malfoy, kindly pay attention." He smiles, the twinkle in his eye briefly flashing before his features become stone-like again.  
  
"Harry left his home last night," Dumbledore waves his wand and creates a sort of screen with white figures moving. Presumably this is wizarding surveillance. "As you can see, he was approached by someone from behind and taken through the house." The figures move accordingly, " and then the two leave the confines of the wards. Now," he rewound the images, "notice the position of them, close and touching."  
  
I nod, though confused as to what this leads to.  
  
"In such a position, we believed the second figure to be you, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
My astonishment is covered easily by my façade. "And why would you believe it so?"  
  
The twinkle returns. "I know a few things, Draco, like Tuesdays and Saturdays."  
  
Anyone else in the room would believe the Headmaster to have lost his marbles. "I see."  
  
"Yes, and this reason we believed Harry to be safe. That you had brought Harry to your place for the night, and to take him to the Hogwarts Express in the morning."  
  
"So, where is he?"  
  
"With your father."  
  
I jump from my seat and curse loudly, oblivious to the Headmaster for a moment. It wasn't in shock, of course. I knew it could only be him, but I still didn't want it to be. I wanted to believe it was something else, something I had no connection with.  
  
"Headmaster, what are we doing? Do we have full deploy?" Remus Lupin, clutching some paper in his hand, burst through the room's door, obviously too frantic to knock, the rude bloke. I can see from his appearance-- unshaven face, disheveled robes, fraying hair, worried eyes -- that he just jumped from bed.  
  
"Sit, Remus, this is the subject of Mr. Malfoy's conversation with me." The old man gestures to a seat next to me. Cautiously I reclaim the chair, looking from Lupin to the Headmaster and back because they weren't talking.  
  
"Well? Do we have a plan?" I ask, a tinge too arrogantly.  
  
Lupin frowns and purses lips before lifting the parchment in his hand. "This just came from Hedwig, Professor. It's from Harry." That was needless. Anything from Hedwig was from Harry.  
  
"Please, Remus, would you mind reading it?"  
  
He glances at me, a bit suspicious of my presence. "It is a bit of a personal letter." He begins, but the Headmaster waved his hand.  
  
"That's fine, we all know Harry intimately."  
  
Lupin stares, disbelieving, in my direction before reluctantly continuing. After all, who can dismiss Dumbledore's orders?  
  
"'Dear Remus, I need your advice. I just had a relationship end,'" is that what Harry thought about us? "' but I don't think I can accept it.'" Why not? Didn't Harry get over it by now? Why is he still dejected? "' I mean, I think about this person all the time,'" Just like I do. "'and I remember everything we spoke about.'" Not all the conversations were extremely interesting but I had memorized them as well. "' I even think this person more than liked me,'" Grotesque understatement, Harry. I love you. "' it was in their eyes,'" I've been told they are too expressive, "' every moment implied, but never declared.'" I can't just bounce right up and say it, can I? The vulnerability of it scares me to injury, but I'll never admit that. "' If you have anything to help, please send it back soon. Love, Harry.' What he was thinking to send a letter like this, I don't know. He needs advice, I'm sure of that, but he's never been in a relationship before, he would have said something to me—and whom do you become involved with in a Muggle neighborhood? It seems unlikely that he would create an attachment to anyone there. What does it mean that he--"  
  
I want to shout at him, scream to both of them. It means he feels something for me! That I can love him and someday he might love me back. My chest seems weightless as my heart soars to a place where I might find love, happiness, Harry.  
  
But I speak none of this. I stare at the spot on the wall above the Headmaster's left shoulder. I may have that hope, but just the thought of my father and anxiety grips like a vise around my lungs. Lupin peruses the words again, catching a phrase, glancing at me, returning to the parchment, staring my direction. What is he thinking?  
  
"It means Harry has been abducted, Remus. Nothing more."  
  
Lupin stares at me again, and I watch as his features morph from curiosity to a sort of blank understanding.  
  
"You!" He had leapt from his seat, pointing at me, slowly advancing. My breathing speeds as tension and slight fear capture me. I school my face into cool composure, yet I know my eyes betray my emotions. They always have.  
  
"Remus! Calm yourself. Mr. Malfoy is here to help us."  
  
"Help? Are you certain, Headmaster? This is a Malfoy, and his kind is known for their deviousness, cunning and schemes. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all planned from the start with him in the middle of it all." Like that gave enough evidence to convict me. His voice so blatantly stated his contempt for my standing and my innocence in the abduction.  
  
"A Malfoy has taken Harry, Remus. Lucius, not Draco. Now, please sit down." My father's name converts my vitals to ice, slithering and deceitful, the bloody bastard. The Headmaster now turns his piercing gaze to me, and some of that chill melts. "Tell us about Malfoy Manor, Draco." A polite request cloaking the concrete and steel of its purpose.  
  
I flinch slightly at my name. That tone has been spoken solely by my father and the memories puncture my heart with an ice pick. Moving forward in the chair, I clear my throat. Can I speak?  
  
"Sir, I do not understand." It sounds throaty and hoarse, nothing like my cool drawl I normally summon on such occasions.  
  
"How many rooms are there? Do you have dungeons? What about the grounds? Just pretend you are a travel agent explaining the sites. . ."  
  
I thought better than to ask him what a travel agent was, probably something Muggle…  
  
Clearing my throat again, I move further forward in my seat. "Malfoy Manor has 137 rooms," I hesitate. Did he want all the details? It seemed he did, but this felt like betraying generations of Malfoys, betraying Lucius. "Forty-nine of which are hidden in the walls and floor as well as the kitchen area. From my knowledge, they are the House Elf quarters. We have three sets of dungeons built during the Dark Ages for thieves. Now they store 'dangerous materials.' Four sections of gardens around the House provide mazes and man-eating plants if their locations are unknown to the visitor. There are several wards protecting the Manor including the Magnum Mirror, Sangui Detection, Bone Blood Frouns. And once I heard mentioned the House owned an oubliette at the focal point of the dungeons, but I've never visited or confirmed the rumor." Bloody bastard.  
  
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes returns, and if I thought it possible, I would claim he could read minds.  
  
"Do you need anything else?"  
  
* * * *  
  
I open my eyes, everything is white. I'm floating, my arms move about me, flapping like wings. The pain is gone, I am free.  
  
"You shall never be free." The black words echoed in this pure place. It cannot be, they must be false. "You are mine until your death."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Sangui Detection will be difficult to maneuver around, Professor."  
  
Lupin would know, he was Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
"Yes. But there is something we can do, Remus."  
  
"You cannot be serious. You mean—no."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, do you understand the Sangui Detection?"  
  
"No, sir." I never took the time to decipher that particular spell. It seemed to be a waste of my life if all I was to do was live in the gilded cage known as my home.  
  
"The Sangui Detection Charm is a blood sensing device. The caster, after performing quite complicated wand movements and chanting, spills their blood and seals the charm. Then, the designated area is monitored by content of blood. Anyone not of the caster's lineage will be dutifully recorded and watched." I stare at him. One of my ancestors was a kook. "For anyone to be on the property undetected, they need to be of Malfoy ancestry." This time, he gawped pointedly at me. Supposedly, I am expected to know what he means by this. There is no plan and I do not understand what he is hinting.  
  
"We need Professor Snape, Headmaster."  
  
"Not yet, Remus. Mr. Malfoy, we need your blood. Are you willing to sacrifice that?"  
  
I am quiet for a moment, letting my seriousness and determination seep into the silence. Dumbledore, of course, can already sense my decision with his bright eyes, but Lupin must hear it from my own lips, must realize that I am innocent.  
  
"To save Harry, yes."


	6. Sanguine Reunion

**Chapter Six—Sanguine Reunion  
**  
My cracked lips smile and I feel the flesh break as more of my blood begins to seep down my body. As I stare at my exposed form, I can catch sight of all the bruises and sores from the last twenty minutes. Lucius enjoyed himself; it permeated his eyes and leaked through his pores. It practically radiated off his Voldemort-ruined body.  
  
I almost scream again when the flashbacks come -- the memory of the torture and agony pains me enough. If someone would come, I'd tell them. Ask them about it.  
  
"Just imagine the new Muggle bottle opener -- the one with the rubber strap. Guess where he used that. . ." I glance at the open and imbrued jeans just hanging atop my hips. Snorting, I wish I'd worn boxers that night. It'd help keep my pants on.  
  
Traveling a bit, the guest would see a red-soaked thigh, with two holes in the material. "Yeah, that was the Muggle meat fork. It seems Lucius Malfoy loathes Muggles, but doesn't mind using their kitchen utensils as weapons. . ." It would at least bring some humor to the place.  
  
But then again I've been five days without food or water, bleeding profusely. It's a wonder I'm not dead, yet the state of my person -- you might not be able to tell. Even lifting my head is a chore. At least this means I can leave the pain behind. Not so much the physical, but the anguish of unrequited love. Soon, my body. Soon.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"By Merlin! What is the delay?" I strategically refrained from adding -- you've absorbed the last five days, the bloody idiot.  
  
"Calm yourself, Mr. Malfoy. Professor Snape has completed this potion in record time." Dumbledore attempted to stop my pacing before the fireplace. Perhaps it made him as anxious as I. "I believe he found some helpful substitutions for both effect and speed."  
  
As he finished, Snape enters, finally ready with the concoction. I unconsciously rub at my naked chest while the greasy man moves to the make- shift table by my side, in front of the fire.  
  
"Alright, Draco. Step forward. Lupin," he nearly spat the name, "you stand opposite him."  
  
Moving into position, I touch my chest again. This is where I will take my blood, a place that won't get in the way, they said. Normally, Lupin would cut his hand and I would slice my palm and we would grasp each other tightly, mingling fluids and becoming part of the same line. But his werewolf blood stopped that and forced Snape to use his Mastery. Yes, I will need both sets of limbs and extremities -- casting and running, I suppose.  
  
"You may begin, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
I hadn't realized Snape stepped away, leaving the werewolf and I alone. The cloth is covered with runes and symbols -- something for the short-term if I read them correctly. Nodding, I take the dark-handled dagger and pull the large vial closer.  
  
"I draw my life force, voluntarily, and bring another into my line. As he consumes it, he is blood."  
  
Lifting the blade, I drag it across my chest, hissing at the sting. This is nothing compared to what Harry must endure, a small trifle to get him back. The thick red fluid flows slowly and gathering the vial, I catch it into the potion. With my wand, I gesture and speak the incantation the Professors taught me. It bubbles and converts to a darker shade of blue, and several of the runes glow boldly as it froths.  
  
Handing it to Remus, he states his part; though I ignore it to clean the cut and dress myself. Vaguely I note Lupin drinking the contents, but continue bandaging and cleaning before slipping into my shirt. The bandage keeps my lungs restricted with a sort of constant weight against expansion. At the last drop, however, there was a power surge that stole my attention to him. "Is it done?"  
  
"Yes." He seems angry at this as well as anxious.  
  
Dumbledore stirs from his seat. "You are to restore one, Harry Potter, to safety. Nothing more." With that he stares intently at me. He probably heard the death threats to my father that whispered across my mind in the last few minutes.  
  
Walking forward he handed Lupin a Portkey. "This will take you to the edge of Malfoy Manor property. Good luck."  
  
Before Dumbledore released the object, I stood there grasping the thick rope. I shift my gaze to Lupin's hard face as it activates, repeating the mantra in my brain.  
  
"Hold on, Harry. Hold on." We left Hogwarts.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The slap echoed across the stones, I'm bleeding again.  
  
"Where is my son?!" Lucius screams, whipping me over and over with that lethal palm. But, I'm too weak to cry out, whimper or mumble from so much blood loss. If I had the will or the strength to move my feet, I could splash in the over abundant puddles across the floor. Soon, I can feel it, soon. . .  
  
* * * * *  
  
We land before the cleared road to the front doors of the Manor. Two kilometers stand between the House and us.  
  
"That leads to the front steps. My father's study is there with windows facing the road. We cannot take that path."  
  
"Then let's take to the forest." Lupin indicates the wooded field on the right, stretching for ages across the land and past Manor property into the deep valleys beyond.  
  
"That is a fair plan, however it opens onto the third garden where the Frouns are maintained. The river and brush bring us close to the house, inside the first garden. There are grindylows and such there, but it also passes within a meter of the dungeon doors.  
  
"Let's take our chances with the grindylows."  
  
At first, the river wasn't too bad, we swam comfortably, or as comfortably as fearing for the love of your life can be. My strokes were fabulously powerful, probably the adrenaline coursing through the veins and arteries of my well-muscled body.  
  
I smirk, perfect time to be conceited, swimming in dark creature infested waters next to a werewolf, going to one of the most magically protected places in England.  
  
"Malfoy" The insistent call pulled me back.  
  
Lupin couldn't move, in fact he seemed to be struggling and in a massive amount of pain. "A grindylow, on my leg."  
  
Diving beneath the surface, indeed, a grindylow clung to his leg. Along with seven others, a Granboca fish sucking his calf off and an octopus tentacle near by. I hastily revealed my wand and spouted as many spells as possible at the creatures.  
  
The grindylows, after taking several bouts of boiling water scathingly released Lupin's leg, leaving trails of scarlet behind them. The tentacle, conversely, had pulled him under and I can see his face contort in agony. The bloody Granboca must be sucking more than trousers into his excessively large mouth, and he attempts in vain to stuff his wand in the fish's mouth. He can't wrench the thing loose, because he'd be taking part of himself with it.  
  
Lupin will need air before anything else, and I grasp my wand tighter, casting curse after curse onto that deadly tentacle. He began to turn blue and I knew he would be gone if that bloody octopus didn't give up his prey.  
  
Swimming up, I take a humungous breath and dive back to Lupin. As strange as it may seem, I managed to communicate what I wanted to do. His face warps in an amusing way but, thankfully, he consents and I swim forward.  
  
Grasping his shoulders, our lips meet and I give my breath to him before I swim back to the surface to replenish my lungs and set to work on that damn tentacle. The spells wouldn't work, and we were rapidly nearing the bottom.  
  
To our luck, and I'd celebrate if I could, the Granboca had released Lupin's calf, leaving torn trousers, a monstrous wine lump and a stream of ruby water leading toward the surface. Thank Merlin for the property of water pressure.  
  
Without the aid of spells, I panic. Lupin will certainly drown if he is not released. Not even his sparingly muttered curses make any damage. I can't keep swimming down here for his breath. What am I going to do?  
  
Of course.  
  
Swimming swiftly, I took a section of the tentacle between my hands. I lower my face, quickly, before I lose my nerve and bite the bloody thing as if my own life depended on it.  
  
Immediately, the limb releases him, and in the murky depths, two angry eyes materialize between the rocks. Oh, hell.  
  
I grasp Lupin's forearm as I pass, hastily swimming us both through the water. His leg is almost useless from that fucking fish. Breaking the water, we gasp for oxygen, our lungs burning.  
  
"Must -- move -- danger." I manage before pumping my arms for all their worth.  
  
An octopus, being completely muscle, can travel at breakneck velocity and pass through any small space or crack. I don't think we'll last much longer, with that speed and agility behind us.  
  
Any minute we'll both feel the death-wrap around our ankles, hauling and dragging us under. Any second the sweet taste of water will refresh our lungs and block the toxic gases from our bodies. Any second.  
  
But I never felt that tug, only the strain in my arms as they continued to propel alongside Lupin's. Only the splash of water permeated the still air and we swim on.  
  
The first garden is not as treacherous as the rest, as it was the first to be grown, and the river passed through it. Most of the flesh-eating foliage is meters back from the water line, and the two of us slipped the rest of the distance without incidence.  
  
Reaching the shore by the dungeon entrance, I spring from the water, quickly muttering a drying spell over my robes and hair. The drips might attract unwanted attention. I hear Lupin do the same as he approaches, barely limping from sheer will, from behind  
  
I remember the last adventure to the dungeons -- these particular hollowed rooms filled with chains, behind this wall. Pressing my palms shoulder width apart, I stare into the glinting jewel-eyes of the dragon on the Malfoy Family Crest.  
  
"Morgana Draconis."  
  
With the scrape of stone on stone, the wall converts itself to a gateway and we steal into the corridors easily. The sting on my chest explains the warm damp area on my shirt. The laceration has opened again. I ignore it though and halt in the hallway to concur with Lupin.  
  
"What's the next move?"  
  
"Well, we find Harry." He replies easily, like an insult.  
  
I smack him on the back of the head. "I know that. How?"  
  
"Don't you ever touch me again!" I recognized the tight and barely controlled rage in his voice, like my own, and backed away with hands raised.  
  
"Alright, alright. Don't get your trousers in a knot."  
  
"Are the other dungeons connected to these?"  
  
"Yes. But only one doorway will take you to each. It's rather perplexing."  
  
"Alright, I'll sniff him out. Just, follow me. . ."  
  
Of course, that is much easier said than done. I feel useless, crawling behind a limping werewolf, checking where he points me. It's like I'm his loyal hound, galloping by his side and ready for his every command. No Malfoy will ever bow down to another.  
  
Except my excuse of a father.  
  
"Lupin, I'm going to check other rooms." And without awaiting his response, I dash in the opposite direction and out of sight.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Have you no sense of your well-being?" His grip on my chin is sure to leave bruises. But it won't matter, for soon enough, I'll be leaving this place -- sleeping for eternity.  
  
"Your pathetic little life is about to end, Mr. Potter. Go out in a blaze of grandeur and enlighten me to the location of his quarters."  
  
He had shears, large enough to chop a tree trunk, in his talon-like hands. It has come, and I smile despite the crimson, it has come.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I come upon a silent, vacant room, and collapse on the stone bench. My heart beats wildly, I feel like we are running out of time. It is a miracle that Harry has lasted even this long, but I know his Gryffindor bravery and perseverance. He wouldn't give up -- I'm coming for him.  
  
Now would be the time to confirm the oubliette report -- I can apparate and get there without the hassle of discovering its entrance. All I have to do is remember -- the book said to apparate to an unknown location: think of its name, general location. . . basically a tremendous amount of concentration.  
  
Concentrate -- Malfoy Manor Oubliette.  
  
The Oubliette, at Malfoy Manor. Oubliette.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He prowls forward, gripping the handles tightly -- the anguish will leave me, I can almost taste the release.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Like hot candle wax, the atmosphere around me liquefies and amalgamates into another scene -- a scene with my father, a weapon, and an extremely battered death-like Harry.  
  
My body convulses with pain and guilt, but is frozen in place. I cannot do anything but watch -- observe as Lucius stalks forward, as Harry doesn't move, as Lucius raises the shears to the chains capturing my love's wrists, as Harry remains silent, as Lucius divides the metal with the tool, as Harry bonelessly flops to the ground, and Lucius stabs his booted leg into my love's stomach.  
  
"No! No, no, no. . ." I finally find my voice. "You fucking bastard." It was a whisper choked in emotion -- sorrow and hatred.  
  
Lucius pivots and faces me. "Now, now, Draco, you shouldn't speak what you do not mean." That predatory smile crystallizes his features and he saunters to me, behind me.  
  
He clenches my shoulder, leaning into my ear. "Has no one told you he's not breathing?"


	7. Imbrued Rescue

Chapter Seven—Imbrued Rescue 

His icy breath chills more than my neck, it permeates my mind, body and soul. Harry is dead. The numb conquers all and I barely register the frost-coated, merciless laugh echoing through the two-person occupied room.

My frozen body stands silent, awaiting the death of the echo. The midnight quiet saturates the still air before I break my bonds and crouch at Harry's lifeless form.

Hesitantly, I reach out and caress his flesh-torn back as my knees absorb the blood on the stone. Tears drip in tracks down my cheeks, the explosion within too much to hold in. His arms are trapped beneath the dead weight soaking up the crimson that once flowed through them. A second hand joins the first, and before I realize it, I hold my love in my arms, rocking his silent form, caressing his pulsing neck…

A pulse, he has a pulse. My love is not dead, he lives, but only just.

"Draco…" The words, hoarse, dead and barely above a breathless whisper, commands my attention and I gaze into hollow, sparkling emerald eyes.

"Hold on, Harry. Hold on, love." But he closed his eyes before I finished. The weak beat was still there, we only had a short time longer.

The sound of stone grinding stone resonates behind me and my face whips around to see Lupin's pale form enter the Oubliette from a hidden doorway. I doubt Lucius even knows of its existence.

"We've got to get him out of here, now, before Lucius returns." I command quickly, much more in control than I felt.

Nodding, Lupin raises his wand. "Sanguina." All the blood puddled on the stone, caked to Harry's body and sopped on my trousers lifts and floats into a large vial now clutched in Lupin's capable hands. "Non-infectante."

"Quickly, Draco. Through here, and we'll apparate back."

With a muttered spell, I levitate Harry through the passage behind Lupin. Grabbng hands, limbs, all intertwining, the gateway closes as we apparate away and Lucius enters the empty chamber.

"Here, my Lord. He is ready – for – your …" Lucius stared at the vacant and spotless granite where Harry Potter once slumped, practically lifeless.

"Where is he, Lucius? I grow tired of these games. You should have brought him to me from the first." The cold fury in the scarlet eyes fixated on the pale man in the Oubliette.

Lucius was silent, knowing any answer would be the wrong one. Instead he perched on his toes, awaiting the next move.

"Find another exit." Voldemort's command was taken by the seven other Death   
Eaters with him. "Lucius, my boy, you have lost your touch. First with Draco, and now this."

"I promise, my Lord, something must have --"

"Excuses, excuses. I cannot stand or accept failure, especially amongst my most trusted circle." The lifeless smirk never left the bone-white face.

"Here, my Lord, a second entrance." A nameless cloaked Death Eater pointed to the passage just minutes before occupied by three trembling forms.

"And it seems you lie, Lucius, even to your master." His paper thin index finger jutted out to painfully stroke the Malfoy's cheek. "It's a pity."

Voldemort dropped his hand and moved back. Raising his wand nonchalantly, he aimed directly at Lucius, whose face had fallen a brighter shade of white. An unearthly sound ricocheted off the granite as a burst of green light illuminated the walls.

The lifeless form of Lucius Malfoy crumpled to the ground to the high-pitched piercing laugh of Lord Voldemort.


	8. Stained Eyes

Chapter Eight -- Stained Eyes 

"Will he be alright, Poppy?" Lupin asked, grasping Harry's limp hand.

"Don't touch him, Remus. He is badly injured. I am glad you thought to take his blood, it won't take so long this time." Madame Pomfrey bustled about the hospital wing, gathering tubes and needles, poultices and her wand.

Most of the cuts, bruises, and scratches were spelled away, but some of the deeper lacerations, like the claw tracks across his chest, and the puncture wounds, like the cavernous infected hole in his shoulder, will take several sessions to heal. And the life fluid will take several days to complete.

Lupin never left Harry's side as Madame Pomfrey did her magic, healing a very weakened boy. Once permitted, Remus took his hand and murmured sweet nothings and encouragements into his ear, much to the Medi-witch's disgruntlement.

Draco, however, was forced to return to class, only allocated time during visiting hours and with specific permission. Attempting to concentrate in Potions while Weasley and the Mudblood glared millions of needles his way aided nothing to his wits. On several occasions, her nearly added the incorrect ingredient, but discrete throat clearings and announcements on Snape's part saved the top Potions student from disaster.

"Mr. Malfoy, please remain after class, you have a detention to attend to." Snape spoke above the clatter of cleaning cauldrons and corking vials.

"Yes, sir."

Within moments, the classroom was empty, cauldrons spotless, vials lined and ready for inspection on the Potions Master's desk. Draco casually sauntered toward the Professor.

"What is wrong with you, Draco? You hardly have your head." Just like Snape to favor Slytherins, especially the top student in Potions.

"I am sorry, sir. I've been a bit distracted of late."

"Distracted indeed. Don't believe me ignorant. I know the reason you were on that mission. You cannot let him interfere with your Potions, Draco. Your work here is important. It's your seventh year…" Snape's voice faded into the background, Draco's mind already elsewhere. How was he doing? Was he able to wake yet? At strategic points in the one-sided conversation, Draco added nods and yeses. How were the wounds? And, did they still pain him?

Snape sighed. "When do you want to go, Draco?"

"Oh, yes…"

"Draco." Impatience flooded the professor's tones. No answer was forthcoming. "Draco!"

"Oh, sorry, sir."

"Now, before my Slytherin generosity runs dry," Snape stated irritably, "when do you want to go?"

"Go? Go. Oh, would tonight be acceptable?" The hope and excitement was in more than Draco's eyes, but in his voice as well.

"Tonight. After dinner. Nine O'clock. Ten minutes, Mr. Malfoy. That's all I'll be able to permit you, since you seem to have zoned out of my class and my detention." The professor fought vainly to keep the smile from his features.

"Thank you sir. I promise to behave in future."

*     *     *     *     *

Draco knocked lightly on the infirmary door and after several minutes gave his note to a rather flustered and tight-lipped Madame Pomfrey. Cautiously, he made his way to Harry's bed, where Lupin sat, holding his hand and sleeping in the chair. Both were resting peacefully in the starch white room and Draco was wont to disrupt the tranquility.

He moved inaudibly to Harry's other side, taking his unoccupied hand in his. Gripping it lightly, Draco began to whisper.

"Hullo, Harry." He caressed the warm yet limp palm. "I'm sorry, so sorry…"

Never in his life had Draco apologized to anyone. It was something he was taught never to do. Only his father had managed to wrench one from him, but Draco no longer had a father. Only Lucius who graciously donated his sperm.

Leaning forward, Draco hesitantly kissed Harry's forehead, brushing the insistent fringe from the boy's hidden eyes. His memory supplied the bright, glowing emerald orbs that would shine with his friends and family. And, at one time, himself.

His lips moved to both lids and settled on the pink mouth for a sweet and tender kiss. Pulling back, Draco memorized Harry's sleeping features, relaxed and peaceful. He ignored the lingering scrapes and bruises and swept the strong brow and straight nose, arched lips so soft and sweet to the touch. He almost permanently lost gazing at the angelic face, even from the respectful distance he hoped to gain.

His fingers delayed leaving the warmth of Harry's skin, and Draco trailed them down his cheek and neck. The pulse there was strong, so much stronger than all those days before. It had almost vanished forever, and Draco needed to be certain that would never happen again. The treacherous extensions flowed further down and breathlessly smoothed over his chest, he would spend the remainder of his breath gaining Harry by his side again. Silver eyes turned to the reposed face and Draco smiled warmly.

"What are you doing here?"

Startled, Draco gazed nakedly into Remus Lupin's hard stare.

"Get out."

"I have a -- "

"I don't care what you have. Get out."

"What's all the racket? Come, Mr. Malfoy. Out you go." Madame Pomfrey took Draco by the arm and dragged him from Harry's side, leaving a red and steaming Lupin looking after them.

"Madame Pomfrey," Draco tried to capture her attention. "Madame Pomfrey, how is he?"

Something in his eyes must have touched her heart because her hard features softened and she gave him a small smile. "He'll be fine. The wounds are healing nicely and he should be back in class within the next week. Now, out you go, Mr. Malfoy, and get some rest." She winked at him before closing the door and ending his last look on his lover's face.

*     *     *     *     *

"Headmaster, I'd like to keep Harry off Hogwarts grounds for a while, until he is fully recovered." Lupin boldly met the blue eyes before the foot of his ward's bed.

"I'm sorry, Remus. Harry needs to remain here. His seventh year has commenced without him, his friends are worried sick -- as I'm sure you can imagine, and he needs to complete his studies. You know he will be safe here -- the staff and I have placed more wards around the school since his kidnapping."

"I am aware, it's just that Harry needs a break from everything and especially the …. particulars. He needs time to recuperate."

The professor smiled, but his eyes were stern. "My apologies, but it cannot be done. I would like nothing more than to give Harry a recess from reality, but he cannot escape the future. He needs school and training more than ever, Remus." The logic of this statement proved difficult to retaliate.

"But he's suffering. Has been for years. Why can't we give him some time to escape that and regain his normal balance?" But Remus Lupin was not one to give up.

"Alright. But under two conditions." A smile crept onto the Headmaster's face, putting the younger man on his guard.

"And those are…"

"One, you must remain at Hogwarts. I'll provide you with Balin's Tower next to the Astronomy Tower. No one on the staff, excepting myself, will know you are there."

"Yes, I can concur with that. And the second?"

"Harry's friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, will hold the password as well -- "

"That's fine." But Dumbledore went on as if there was no interruption.

"-- As well as Draco Malfoy."

"What? No, sir, you cannot expect me to -- "

"That is the offer, Remus. That or Harry can remain in Gryffindor Tower under the scrutiny of all -- "

"Yes, sir, yes. I'll take the offer. Thank you." Remus put up his hand in the defensive position.

"No, thank you." The eyes twinkled dangerously bright.

*     *     *     *     *

Slowly, very slowly, Harry began to move, rolling and stretching slightly. Groggily, he opened his eyes to the smiling faces of Remus, Ron, and Hermione.

"Hey, mate." Ron had a drugged smile on his lips.

"Hullo, Ron."

"How are you feeling?" Of course, Hermione would not defer from the task at hand.

"Better." Harry gave her a weak smile; he hated lying through his teeth, literally, and especially to his friends, but what he was supposed to say…

"Good. I've brought you last week's notes and homework, Harry. You can't fall behind if you still want to go to Auror Training."

"Good ole 'Mione. Never gets off track." Harry's laugh turned into a flemmy cough.

"Of course not. And McGonogall has been really tough on work lately. She even took points -- "

"Hermione, I'm sure Harry doesn't care about Ravenclaw. Or House Points. Or work."

"Don't talk to me like that. Ronald Weasley. If I hadn't helped you these past days, you'd be back in Sixth year." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ron, who looked rather sheepish and pink.

"You don't know what it's been like without you, mate. Hermione's been terribly bossy, a nightmare."

A hand connected with the back of Ron's head. "Stop talking nonsense, besides Harry's sleeping. And don't you even think about waking him, Ron."

The two best friends sat at the side of the bed, discussing away almost noiselessly. One would think they were together, with snogging sessions in the Astronomy Tower and everything; but they were just really close friends -- like brother and sister. There was a time when Ron would have ravished her, but he quickly grew from the temptation when he realized it was like his relationship with Ginny.

Lupin sat back quietly, gazing at Harry's reposed form and every so often glancing at the two whispering at his side. He recalled a time much like now, a few years back, with different people by the bedside and a different Potter claimed by white. It was so much more peaceful then, not too many cares for the lives of sixteen-year-olds, especially Marauders and their girlfriends.

Remus suddenly cleared his throat to capture the chatty individuals, or was it to push back overwhelming sensations? "Harry is moving to another place tomorrow. Somewhere secret, to recover. And catch up," Remus hastily added at Hermione's open mouth. "You will be informed of the location and password at that time, and it goes without saying this is to be kept private." He stared intently at the two, one nodding in understanding and the other examining Harry.

"Will anyone else know?" Hermione's soft whisper caressed the air between them, her gaze never leaving the sleeping boy.

"Yes. One other." Something more than anger tinged his words and muddled his face.

"Who?" Ron couldn't keep the curiosity in the bag.

"Draco Malfoy."

"What? Why? What's he got to do with any of this?" The red-head almost shot up in disbelief.

"Everything, but I cannot be the one to tell you, for it is Harry's duty. With this, and Harry's nature, it may be quite some time before you hear anything, but don't push him. It is his secret to give." Remus sighed and gazed upon the flawless features in repose. "Now, I believe it is time to return to class. Out you go. Tomorrow you can visit him again, in the confines of his new 'home.'"

Hermione gave Harry's limp hand one last squeeze before the pair of Gryffindors reluctantly left the Hospital Wing.

Remus grazed his fingers across his chin in a pondering gesture -- how to keep that blasted thing away from Harry. Damn Dumbledore and his conditions, but what could he do? The other option seemed just as dangerous. Leaving Harry to the vultures called teenagers. His fingers moved from his chin to his luggage-carrying eyes, rubbing softly, pondering more on the delicate situation at hand. Weighing each possibility, pro, con -- until his mind blanked and he drifted to sleep.

Draco would know the password. Could come visit him. Remus even said. Remus was never known to lie, and Harry wasn't about to begin to suspect he would. His heart tore in two between anguish and anticipation while the weight about his throat grew. Did he want to see Draco? Would Draco come?

Would Draco care?

For all Harry loved, he could answer that last. No. And that answered the second. No. Draco didn't care, he probably didn't notice and he is most likely happy Harry hasn't been around.

No, Draco would be completely returned to the Malfoy of old, all memories forgotten, lost in the sea of time drifting to the bottom sands to be coated in moss. Harry, however, relished these memories, but for the sake of living he couldn't replay them ever again.

He must forget.

And in this moment, pretending to be asleep, listening to Remus' soft snores, Harry made a pact with himself. He would first never again relive the joyous moments of love, and second, regard Draco as Malfoy, the arrogant git of years past.


	9. Healing Again

Chapter Nine—Healing again 

"Harry, would you like some tea?" Remus offered the tray piled high with steaming fluid and several cakes, splendidly balancing the tray and scrutinizing Harry's every move. "This brew is one of the favorites on my list. I thought, perhaps with recent events and your still recovering body, you might like to try something new, but known for its magnificence."

Idly watching out the window, Harry barely heard a sound Remus relayed. He just stared out at the small lake and the sunlight waltzing off the rippling yet glassy surface. It was almost as a thousand-mile stare had painted itself on his face. Like he was in another world.

And that was true. Harry was actively living the tender moments of the summer and how they quickly progressed to crumbs. There was time in the Oubliette, but the bleeding and constantly losing consciousness stole from much reflection.

And still numb from the experience, Harry's normally book-like features were as plaster. One would think him a statue with his drawn face and waxy eyes behind clouded glasses. "No, thank you, Remus."

A soft clink a meter away indicated the lack of regard for such a statement, and the older man's introduction for what Harry termed "Ramble," for though Harry was supposed to speak, he gave those reigns willingly to Remus. The ex-professor would Ramble himself alone before realizing Harry didn't want to talk. It just proved how anxious the man was over him, to not notice every nuance.

"Harry, you need to have something, Madame Pomfrey will never trust me again if you return thinner, paler, or any different than would be under her care." Of course Remus couldn't voice his real reason for fussing over the boy, but convinced himself it was the God-Father-Like duties he now took over, though he never could replace Sirius, and he knew it.

Breaking his contact with the dancing rays, Harry shifted to face Lupin, something glinting around his neck. "Alright." It was dead. Mechanically he stretched out his hand and pinched the teacup and small pastry from the tray. But Harry's attention had been captured again by the water and the cup and cake poised forgotten in mid-consumption.

"Remus, did you ever fall in love?"

There was such a long silence that Harry wondered if he missed Remus leaving. His gaze sharpened and he turned into the room and caught the very shocked and pale Remus.

"Are you alright, Remus?"

It was surprising, that he should ask such a question, but he was determined not to let Dra-Malfoy get to him. Remus would know; at least, something about this.

Lupin hesitated, how to answer this… "Yes, Harry, I have."

Something told Harry to just stop there, and not to ask more. Before, his instincts were right and he's learned to trust them. He nodded in response and sipped some of the tea.

The warmth caused a small trail down his throat, but disappeared quickly. The surface of the liquid caught the light in a different manner than the lake, but at the same time, it was similarly sparkling.

"Harry, do you want to talk about something? Someone? I still have your letter, and you've been frighteningly taciturn these days."

Harry flinched at the mention of that night. Yes, it was indirect and unintentional, but the memories still haunted him, visited him in his dreams. Even thinking about them cracked his ribs and spilled blood. Shaking his head, he looked up at Remus. "I'm just tired."

Nodding in understanding, Lupin smiled and leaned back in his seat, surreptitiously watching Harry. He had returned to contemplating the water and tried to relax, taking small gulps of the tea. Of course, with a piercing gaze directed unwaveringly on him, he felt unnerved and rose only a few minutes later.

"I think I'll take a nap." And slowly he walked to his rooms with Remus following his retreating back.

Harry quickly leapt the stairs and into the third door from the bottom. His room. Most of his effects had been brought here from the Gryffindor Tower, he'd be staying here for a while, after all.

Unlike what he told Remus, napping was farthest from his mind and he plopped into his chair before his desk. In front of him were the assignments he missed from the beginning of school. He stared at them for  a long while before he took the quill and parchment and began reading and writing in a repetitive yet fluvial motion.

With one task remaining, and his brain feeling like jelly, Harry sat back and rubbed his temples gingerly. The tea had gone stone cold hours before, while the sun was directly overhead. Now its final rays of the day played in the folds of his curtains and danced on the walls.

His break was interrupted by a knock on his door, and without waiting for an answer, it swung open revealing a smiling Hermione and wide-eyed Ron.

"Hey, Harry. We brought your work. How are you?" Hermione said this all very quickly as she came rushing into the room and to his side. Ron walked in after her and Remus followed closely behind.

"I'm fine, Hermione, and you'll be proud to know I'm almost done with the make-up stuff." Hermione beamed at him and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey, mate." Ron didn't look too happy, but it was because Hermione had been her worried self and talked his ears off, then made him carry all the homework. He felt used.

"Harry, a moment please." Remus beckoned him out onto the landing. Harry got up quizzically and stood by the stairs while Remus closed the door.

"I want you to express yourself, if not with me, then with someone. But I doubt you want to discuss this with Ron, or Hermione, so I bought you this," He produced a red-leather bound book with cream pages, and there were many. It was almost as thick as _Hogwarts, a History_, "write down everything in here. I've charmed it so that anyone, except those you ask, who reads it will only see blank parchment."

Harry hesitated, but thought it best to just take the thing, even if he wouldn't use it. "Thanks, Remus." He gave the man a tentative smile.

Remus returned the grin and had the sudden urge to ruffle his hair. He thought better of it and squeezed his shoulder before returning to his continual contemplation of Harry's life, going down the stairs and out of sight.

Harry watched him go and then sent his feet to his room where Hermione was checking his homework and Ron was reading one of his Quidditch magazines. Walking forward, he tossed the book on his nightstand and gave a brilliant smile. It was just like Hermione to go straight to work, and Ron to procrastinate in favor of Quidditch.

Moving toward the bed, Harry dropped down and sighed, as inaudibly as possible. Remus was worried, along with Ron and Hermione. He didn't want them to feel that way, it was just a phase, and soon enough he'd be back to the normal "Harry" once more. Only, Harry forgot about the necklace strung on his skin.

"How are things, Harry? I bet you can get loads of work done here. It's almost better than the Library…" Hermione trailed off, whistfully dreaming of the endless shelves of books.

"Bored, mate? I'd s'pect so…" Ron couldn't put down the Quidditch magazine; the Chudley Cannons were the feature.

"Actually, it's not so bad. I mean, I get my own time for everything." Harry stared at his hands. The worst action, in his mind, was lying to his friends—to his family. It's like a betrayal, not giving them the truth.

But _everything_ came into his mind, and he couldn't—wouldn't talk about that. It was forbidden territory, bringing more than pain and tears and red.

"Even Quidditch? Can you fly, Harry?" Ron abruptly lifted his eyes from the page with excitement and pinned Harry.

"I-I-I don't know. Haven't gotten around to asking."

"Are you sure it's worth it? I mean, this is like your hiding place, and wouldn't flying in the open, out on the grounds, defeat the purpose of secrecy?" Hermione turned to Ron, "And don't you try to talk him into it. He has enough to worry about with NEWTS and homework, Ron."

"But he has to do something _fun_ or he'll lose his marbles." Ron retorted.

"This year is the most important in the wizarding world. From our scores, it's determined our extended schooling."

"Come on, Hermione, there is so much more…" Harry let them trail on. There was no use interjecting, for each was set in their beliefs, had argued about this on many occasions before.

Where would he put the journal? He couldn't just… add it to the bookshelf: Remus would find it and ask why he hadn't used it. Placing it out of sight, out of the way… somewhere no one would suspect it to be…

"Right, Harry?" Ron's voice intruded.

"Yeah," perhaps under the bed, or behind the nightstand. Or, he could hang it out the window in a sack…

"What? Harry, how can you say that?" Harry snapped to focus.

"Say what?"

"You weren't listening," frustration leaked into her voice. "That doesn't count, Ron, he wasn't paying attention."

"That's not fair, he agreed and that's that." Ron shot back. Hermione sat straighter and opened her mouth, probably to give a huge retort.

"Guys, guys, stop arguing. You both know neither of you will change your views. There's no point continuing this." Harry smirked knowingly.

"Of course there's a point; there's always a point. But, you're right," she turned to Ron, and then faced Harry. "That's not what we came here for."

"Oi, you wouldn't believe what's changed."

"Changed?"

"Oh, Harry. Malfoy's changed. It's so strange, passing him in the corridors and no insults coming after you. I think once I heard him say 'excuse me' when someone ran into him." Hermione had bright eyes and happy expression. Malfoy had tortured and taunted her since the second year, the really horrid way that makes parents enraged.

But the mention of Draco clouded Harry's emeralds. "Oh really?" He managed in a tight voice.

Ron took it for surprise, however, and began explaining excitedly the numerous instances of an altered Malfoy. But Hermione caught the slight shade in her friend's countenance and began to inspect him, just as Remus would have.

Flinching at Hermione's stare, Harry concentrated his gaze on Ron while his mind moved at incredible speeds. The entire summer passed in images, emotions. Happiness and joy, satiation and content—the hardest thing Harry ever had to do was keep the expressions from his face at this moment. No number or combinations of encounters with Voldemort could compare to the raging swirls of conflicting sensations stampeding throughout his body. Even the Cruatious Curse was heaven compared to this.

Everything was still too novel, too close to the heart. For the first time, Harry gave thanks for the Tower, for Remus' persistence and Dumbledore's insightfulness—otherwise it was facing Malfoy like this, looking for Draco and encountering the lie that masked everything but his eyes. The expressive silver eyes of passion, molten desire.

Shamelessly Harry heated and dropped his sight to the floor. Once, they were both too eager—they'd missed a Tuesday, a week of abstinence…

Harry knocked on the door, the brass 24 shining mockingly in his face, but only for a millisecond.

_They were soon replaced by Draco's smoky eyes and impatient mouth as he captured Harry's lips with his._

_The kiss was searing and within moments both were panting and stumbling into the apartment, kicking the door shut. Draco tore at Harry's shirt, exposing the expanse of creamy skin to his famished fingers._

Harry shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes and holding back tears while his breath came in halted gasps.

"And this other time, Neville spilled his boiled asphodel. Yeah, I know it's funny…"

Draco thrusted powerfully, expertly, knowingly, bringing them to the most blinding plane of ecstasy they had yet to visit. Both satiated beyond measure and basking in the light of their love.

_Even in the after sheen the sensation was palpable, thick and visible like a warm mist around and island, surrounding and engulfing them comfortably. They panted together, breathing in the emotion and delivering it to every cell in their bodies._

Sliding sensuously to the side, Draco pulled Harry into his arms and rested his chin atop Harry's head. Harry curled more definitely about him, relishing the heat radiating from his love's form.

It was as if Harry had relived that moment of utter peace and happiness—the joyous world in the ring of Draco's arms. He moaned audibly, startling both occupants in the room.

"Harry, alright, mate?" Ron sat forward in the chair while Hermione moved to his side.

"Do you need anything?" She grasped his arm and felt his forehead.

"No, I think I'm alright." Harry managed in a husky whisper. "I think the day's just worn me through. Maybe if I went to bed…" He trailed off hoping for his answer.

"Oh, of course, Harry. Come on, Ron. Time for our work." Hermione quickly ushered the red-head out of the room, glancing back at the boy on the bed. He was nearly as red as Ron's locks, something to consider. "Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."

"'Night, Hermione, Ron." His voice was really strained.

Hermione closed the door behind her, and Harry flew back atop the coverlet.

Just as his breathing had evened, Harry felt a kiss on his crown, something Draco did only while he slept.

_"I hope this lasts forever." The breath escaped Draco's lips._

_And Harry caught it._

The burden in his robes was a force to be reckoned with. Tenderly, Harry released his member from its cage not daring to touch, or anything more. The cool air caressed and yet afflicted him.

Droplets moved from the corners of his eyes and into his raven hair while he stared at the maroon canopy. Draco got to him again. Already the oath had been broken, but no more. This incident could never happen again, no one would see him so vulnerable, even himself.

The tears poured like a waterfall, soaking his hair and soon his sheets just before his drifted into troubled sleep.

*          *            *            *            *

"Ill favored boy."Another jab and a cascade of blood tumbles to the floor. "You must get off on pain. Tell me, does he hurt you? Do you bleed for him like you bleed for me?" Lucius pulls out the steak fork from his left buttock.

_Just barely, Harry keeps all reaction inaudible, and merely winces._

_"Well?"_

_Infuriated, Lucius grabs Harry's hip and breathes snake-like into his ear. "One last opportunity, Potter." Silence pervades the tension. "Very well." He speaks, extremely excitedly._

_In one swift movement, Harry's trousers are torn away and his legs are spread eagled, completely exposed and Lucius thrusts the coated metal into his vulnerable entrance._

_A stream of scarlet travels down Harry's legs as Lucius giggles delightedly at Harry's scream._

Draco bolted upright, fumbling in the dark recesses of his green sheets. In his head there was screaming, loud and panicked. His hands covered his ears, but the sound didn't stop, or stifle for that matter.

It was so intense, so loud. It seemed just like a voice he'd heard before, one he hadn't heard in a long while. The scream was Harry's. In his head. Now.

Flinging back the covers, Draco tore from his dormitory and out of the dungeons with a new understanding and joy but fear and concern with love….

"You will never bleed with anyone like I can make you. Your blood is on my hands."

_The screaming soon ebbs away into numb perspiration and Harry breathes heavily into his chest. There wasn't any way Lucius could desecrate those moments_

_Draco._

_Soft pale flesh, the sheen of sweat, an emotion akin to the intensity of the physical pain at this moment. Lucius slaps him, and Harry remembers Draco's trailing fingers, and it wipes away the pain._

_He loved me, I know it._

Draco crashed through the doorframe with a new message echoing in his mind. _I love you, Harry, I love you. _He didn't know if it was successful, but he took the stairs two at a time and came to Harry's landing by trial and error. Opening the door, Draco crossed to the half-draped bed where a twisting figure was moaning in the night.

He sat on the cover-sheets and with Harry's wand, spelled the door closed. With all that racket, he was certain Lupin awoke, but he wanted to be with Harry, alone. As long as possible. _I love you Harry._

_Lucius again whips his claws across Harry's flesh breaking the skin and spilling even more scarlet trails along his body. By now, the pain was mounting, Harry barely keeps his lips closed, a blackness threatening to engulf him—when another voice creeps into his foggy thoughts._

_I love you Harry._

Draco lay next to his sleeping figure and wrapped his arms around Harry. Carefully, comfortingly, Draco held on tight, whispering into Harry's ear.

"Wake up, love. It's only a dream." Kissing Harry's temple Draco entwined his legs with Harry's.

He brushed the sweaty fringe from his forehead, trailed his fingers across the flushed cheek, pausing at full rosy lips. Draco couldn't help it, magnetic attraction took him to those lips and he kissed them, lengthily.

_A heat infuses his body and Lucius begins to melt away. The sensation originates from his lips and he discovers someone is kissing him. Naturally, _Harry moved his lips in response and began to kiss back.

Draco started when the mouth beneath his parted and tentatively the tongue peeked out. Relief washed through him, bringing about joys greater than life itself.

Their tongues parried and slid along each other for long moments, the background faded into another plane. Draco existed only with Harry, and the immense sensations tangibly swirling about them.

It was a dream, like it would change everything and lives would go on, happily for the remainder of time—legendary love.

Harry came to half-consciousness gradually and it suddenly smacked him that there was someone here, in his bed, wrapped around his body and kissing him; passionately. The sort of kiss he recognized… from somewhere, sometime, someone, opening his eyes….

Abruptly the kiss halted, Harry pulling away and confused green eyes stared into startled grey ones. His body had reacted rather strongly—as it was aching now—but his shock was so deep, not even the pounding and screaming at the door registered in his brain.

"Draco?"

"Harry. Are you feeling better now?" He smiled.

"Draco, what are you doing here?" He blushed, slightly embarrassed that Dra-Malfoy would see him after this, that it was Dra-Malfoy who comforted him.

"You called me," Draco's brow furrowed slightly. "Witch Message…" He tilted his head quickly and looked off in the distance, "granted, we're wizards, but under normal circumstances—"

Harry shook his head and disentangled himself from… Malfoy's limbs to sit up, brusquely cut him off.

"But, why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, _obviously_ not, since I have to ask." Harry felt like the Rejected Ravenclaw Malfoy had taunted him with those many days ago.

"I came because—"

The door finally burst open and Remus came charging in moving swiftly and unswervingly in Draco's direction. He carried his wand in his hand and it pointed squarely at Draco's chest.

"You have no right to be here. Mr. Malfoy. Quickly remove yourself and avoid all consequences or remain to be forcefully deposed and most dubiously injured." Through this tirade, Remus did not stop approaching and now grasped Draco's naked shoulder.

Harry was even more befuddled with this new development—why wasn't Draco allowed here? Didn't Remus say that he would have the password? But them, what _was_ Draco doing here? Why would he come? What did witch messages have to do with anything?

"Remus, what are witch messages?"

A panic, like that of a tsunami, engulfed Remus' thoughts, his body, his soul. He stopped his progress toward the door to stare at Harry. Acute pain in concentrate rapped at his heart's door. "How do you know about Witch Messages, Harry?"

"Malfoy said he heard me call him, that it was a witch message…"

Remus dropped his grasp and stared off into the distance, beyond the walls, through the air, into the stars, into the past and lingered there for several moments in silence—he seemed troubled yet at peace.

Draco returned to Harry's side, sitting on the bed and searching for his hand. When their skin met, a shock went through Harry and he stared at Draco, who smiled timidly. He didn't attempt to remove his hand, though, and turned back to the man standing in his pajamas in the middle of his room. "Remus?"

Blinking several times, the man focused on the boy before him. "How could this have happened…" He whispered more to himself than anyone else.

"Remus, are you—"

"Mr. Malfoy, is this true? You-you heard a Witch Message, and it brought you here?" His voice was in awe, like speaking too loudly or harshly would break the ice that now hung in the air.

"Why would I lie about this?" Draco squeezed the fingers in his grasp but never took his eyes from Lupin Harry stared from Draco to Remus and back, again and again. The ice was growing, dripping into icicles.

"But, what are witch messages?" Harry became impatient.

Draco stirred and faced Harry, lacing his fingers in the extensions he held. Slightly unnerved, Harry pulled away from the intimate gesture and clasped his hands together. He missed the pained expression on the boy next to him.

"Remus, tell me."

Carefully, the man took the desk chair not too far from the bed. He took a deep breath, and aged about ten years before their eyes.

"Witch Messages, Harry, are an ancient magic, an unbreakable bond between two people. The first known encounter with records of the messages was around Godric Gryffindor's age, but there were oral tales that dated back far into uncharted time." Remus stole another deep breath and slumped back in the seat. Something in his chest broke this night and yet something new was blooming. Drawing courage, he continued. "In those days, homosexuality was the absolute norm, and the magical world only heterogenized to procreate. One female couple had illustrated, on several occasions, to communicate without speaking. Their conversations would be going, chattering, but right in mid-sentence, they would stop, it would be completely soundless for a few moments and then they would continue as if they had been talking the whole time. Many were confused and quite intrigued by this and they began to question. They found, after several other phenomena, that the witches were communicating through it all. Soon after, several other female couples announced their relationship and so forth, finding that nearly all long-term or married couples had this ability. It was non-existent in the male constituency, and many believed that due to the very emotional side of the feminine mind, only the female could make such a bond. Thus the term 'Witch Message.' Of course, after a few centuries, and homosexuality lost the major field, some men were able to prove that the messages could be found between them, but I believe only six recorded couples could illustrate this property." Remus trailed off, again staring into the mist, attempting to pass the veil and breathe in the historical air, to go back to a world he knew as peace. But the silence was total, complete and it fractured that peace with its icy fingers and chilled breath. The broken pieces now shattered beyond repair, and the new growth gained a nutrient strong enough to blossom.

"So what you are saying, then, is, Dra-Malfoy and I have the ability to… talk to each other without speaking?"

"More than that, Harry." Remus sounded almost defeated, like he was weary from a thirty-year battle not in any condition to end soon. "More than that."

He didn't want to continue, and there was a stillness louder than any passed before. Yet, Remus knew he couldn't leave Harry without the knowledge, he was clueless enough already. Clearing his throat, a softness infused the room and seemed to warm in temperature.

"Harry, only the deepest of bonds can result in Witch Messages, and normally a sort of act, or rite of passage, must take place. It is a conscious effort, as the records go…" His brow furrowed and he stared hard at Draco, who wasn't paying any attention to anything but Harry's unoccupied hand.

"But Malfoy and I didn't go through any sort of ceremony." Rejected Ravenclaw Harry emerged again.

"That doesn't mean I'm lying."  Malfoy stated hotly.

"Of course not, of course not…" Remus seemed to be living in those stars and quite unable to bring himself down to earth. It was almost as if he were watching the children in Neverland sprint away before the wolves. Unexpectedly, Remus stood, staring, unseeing at the two boys on the bed competing in a ogling contest. The gaze lasted a few minutes before he pivoted easily and moved stealthily from the room. Harry and Draco were left alone.

Remus left Draco unaccompanied with Harry.

In Harry's isolated room.

On Harry's secluded bed.

"Harry, why won't you let me touch you?" Draco asked, his eyes pleading with the pacing form before him while the rest of his mask betrayed nothing.

"Why should I let you? You have caused me nothing but pain on more than one level." Harry took several more revolutions on his oval rug. "I don't understand this. You, Remus, my dreams…" He touched his temple. "Why?"

"Do you think this a game? That I am a toy to be so easily fondled and just as non-chalantly discarded?" In his anger the Malfoy breeding began to show.

"No, Malfoy," Harry stated without hesitation this time, "it is _you_ who believe _me_ a toy, played like an instrument and when you are bored, you sell it to the highest bidder!"

He was becoming flushed both in indignation and arousal. Malfoy was intensely seductive when he was livid, and even more so without a top. Perhaps the only cloaks of the aching desire were the night and his pacing. Whatever it was, Draco didn't notice.

"What do you mean by that, _Harry_?" Draco sat straighter, becoming more incensed by the moment.

Harry didn't answer him for quite a while, still pacing back and forth, pausing at an apex, searching for an answer. "It was Lucius, Draco, your father."

"Lucius is not my father." Draco stated as if this were irrefutable fact and no amount of evidence could ever question it.

"Oh really? What was he then? Your Nanny?"

"By Merlin, Harry, will you listen to yourself? What is wrong with you?" Draco stood from the bed and began moving toward the shaking boy.

"Don't you _dare_ come a step closer, Draco—Malfoy." Harry stopped and held up his hands. "Sit back down or I'll kick you out."

Draco obediently complied and moved back to sit on the edge of the mattress. Harry resumed pacing, faster than ever, left, right, left, right. Slowly, Draco caught the sounds of Harry mumbling to himself, but never could make out the words.

"Harry you need to calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack."

This must be the 'new' Malfoy, the 'changed' Malfoy Ron and Hermione were talking about. It was alien to Harry to see him care like this; even in those wee hours of the morning, Draco was never like this. It was more reactionary than active.

His necklace bounced with every step, scratching the pajama top he wore across his now very sensitive chest. In frustration, Harry just unbuttoned it completely and let the panels flap at his sides while he walked.

"Like you would even care. You'd get to win a Quidditch game, finally. No worries, you'd say." His tempo increased, he practically ran across the floor, and in such a stupor even Malfoy was getting anxious.

"Come on, Harry, take your stupid arse and plant it on the bed. You'll rouse the whole castle with your racket." Malfoy was becoming frustrated, not able to make any progress at all with this stubborn facet of a Harry he'd never seen before.

"Sit down, he says. How can I bloody sit down with _you_ there?" Harry breathed quickly now, almost hyperventilating, but he managed to stop pacing.

"What do you mean about me? What's wrong with sitting next to me? Do I have cooties now?"

Harry snorted. "Obviously you don't get it. You don't remember that night, on the street, under the tree. It's a joke, you being here." He pounced on his night table and grasped the thick red book. Moving several meters to his desk, he began to write frantically, like a madman disproving Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity.

"Harry, you don't understand. Look at me," Draco realized what the problem was, why his Harry wasn't in his arms, wrapped as close as skin would allow.

Potter didn't even budge, he just sat calmly at his desk with his hand flowing fluvially across the pages in a constant rhythm in cut time. It was as if Draco, no Malfoy, wasn't even in the room.

"Harry, _look at me_." When Harry didn't respond, Malfoy stood and crossed to his seat, kneeling beside him. "Let me explain, Harry, please."

The writing slowed and soon came to a halt, but Harry refused to look at him. His necklace glinted in the moonlight, which was rapidly fading as the morning hours approached. Suddenly his shirt scratched too much and it irritated his skin so severely, he had no other choice except to take it off.

Draco caught his breath when Harry exposed himself thusly, despite the reddish-pink areas about his pectorals. A sparkle caught his eye and he reached up to finger the necklace chain. "You still wear it…"

Harry flushed, too embarrassed and heated to reply.

"Harry, I don't know what to say that will make you forgive me. What I did, when I did it…" He shook his head cursing softly under his breath at himself, "it was just wrong."

A silence stretched, pulling the strings about Draco's heart, forcing him to wonder if Harry had even heard him.

"Then why did you do it?" Harry's whisper undulated with the still air, neither breaking nor continuing that calm peace. Closing his eyes, he willed the lump in his throat and the water in his eyes to disappear and not loom and return.

Draco took his hand and grasped his chin to coerce Harry to look at him: to see deep into his eyes; to determine for himself that Draco was speaking truth; to see the emotion that spouted out like a leak drowning him in the night with sensations.

"I did it to protect you, Harry. Lucius," Draco searched for the right words, "he, I thought if only you weren't with me, you would be out of harm's way. And I knew if I told you, you'd just laugh it off and say 'I've handled Voldemort' and such nonsense. But you don't know him, Harry, you don't know him."

Draco rested his forehead on Harry's hand, breathing raggedly, holding back, fighting back the onrush of emotion that threatened to swallow him whole. Thus Harry's slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, and the enlightened expression in his eyes before the tears he'd battled won and poured over the barriers, was lost.

Draco hadn't—didn't—and he did—it was—Harry couldn't even finish his thoughts he was so blissful. Yet, he couldn't just give in and make everything as the summer. No, Draco needed to understand, to feel the same as he did—for a week.

Harry went back to writing furiously, though most of his agitation had left. Still, there were several, yes, _several_ points to Draco's apology that he needed to address.

Apology; Draco apologized.

Harry mapped out a plan: detailing strategy; and later, seduction. Full romance and candles and roses, he could charm them…maybe a visit to the Room of Requirement…

Cocking his head, Harry stared straight into luminous silver eyes upturned to him. The face was apprehensive, the hand grasping his awfully tight. _The confusion and hurt from this_, Harry thought, _will be just like that night._

Wait, just one bloody minute. The memories of then came rushing back and again those horrid emotions of anguish and the lost sensation throughout his body returned. One week, it seemed too long. But, perhaps just a taste, like, one night. Harry didn't want to lose Draco all over again just for the sake of revenge and principle. But one night should be enough.

"Draco, I…need to be alone for a while." Harry said it as dully as his voice would allow.

The blond was shocked, utterly speechless and still as a statue. Wide eyes, open mouth, loosened grip…Draco just stared, attempted to gather his shattered wits and understand what Harry just said.

Of course he couldn't expect everything to be 'peachy keen' after the lot; but, he could expect something more than _that_ reply. Taking a deep breath, Draco calmed his nerves, steeled his loins and stood.

"Alright, I'll come see you tomorrow, after Potions." And maybe we can have dinner together; Draco was already plotting. "I love you, Harry."

Harry nodded to show he heard, and then Draco left. He glanced back one last time and caught a god, bare-chested, bathed in moonlight; and becoming completely turned on, he painfully trudged down the steps returning to the cold, damp dungeons.


	10. Pure Tears

Chapter Ten—Pure Tears 

The stone hit cold on his feet as his steps echoed around the corridors. The suits of armor gleamed methodically in the dark as the breaks in the masonry allocated rays to pass and reflect within the shadows. Had it not been for the glass covering the slanted windows, Draco would swear a mist had gathered and spilled to caress every corner of the hallway, dulling the shine of the metal suits.

These halls, with their drafty silence and resonation mirrored Draco's own thoughts, his heart. Empty. That was the feeling, like all things were lost, broken under the glass, shattered into the moonlight. He could harvest the pieces, but the energy in its destruction would be forever lost to the universe.

Was it a rejection? Why hadn't it been…_different_? A plethora of images snaked their way into Draco's overly active mind: of kissing Harry, touching Harry, holding Harry, taking Harry…

His fingers itched and yearned for taught skin burning with passion, but only of one in particular, the only one who had managed to capture his heart. The one who just now 'needed to be alone.' Why? Was it him?

Each new shock of cold spread from his toes, up his calves and further. They fluttered within his pants, trapped and iced where Harry had heated. Almost like a foreshadowing of ruin, like an omen of sure fire death. Without Harry—

An invisible hand broke through Draco's chest, clutching his winded lungs, squeezing his pulsing muscle, fracturing his short breath into sporadic gasps. He slammed against the granite wall, balling his skin over the origin of that pulse. Any minute it would explode, the pressure was so tight, how could this be anything but magic?

Draco moaned in agony, sinking to the floor, overcome with more emotion than love itself. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. Pain was candy, sweet and expressive, and Harry needed to be alone. What could he do?

*          *            *            *            *

At his desk, Harry scribbled, the same three words over and over. It was like a mantra, keeping him in his seat, away from the treacherous landings of sleep—well, dreams of a sexy body, bathed in sweat, doing things not even a saint could endure…

Of course, trying not to think of those things just made them appear with more vivacity in his mind and Harry squirmed relentlessly in his rigid chair. The motion of is quill had stopped, and he looked back at his handy-work.

I love Draco.

Six hundred times. _And he loves me back_. Again the summer passed yet there was no more pain, only a new understanding of the depth of love, of the immense feeling of fierce protection.

Harry stood and paced before the desk with the echoes of dawn streaming in his mind. Still, several hours remained standing between him and the morning light. Still, several hours remained before him to avoid sleep.

However, sleeping wasn't too much of a call, for he did wake from a dream only a short while before. In fact, with every step gained on that rug, the more energized and awake he felt. Like new adrenaline coursing through all passages in his body.

The plan would go smoothly, there was a night. Draco would know, they could talk when he came to visit after potions… it was the perfect strategy. Yes, made in a matter of seconds, but this was fool proof: no loops or holes or—

But what if he didn't come back? What if Draco thought he needed more time, that Harry would require more than a night too cool off and think. So long, two days. What if he lost him forever because of this, because Draco got the wrong impression from his "punishment," _that I didn't…_

Ridiculous.

Why was he waiting here in the first place? Draco is a few paces away. _I could be touching him, caressing him… witnessing that beautiful sensation called love. _There were rooms, they had time. Yes, it was seventh year, but missing one day wouldn't hurt… time is what they needed, getting back what was lost, what should have been and now could come again. The future looked bright, as bright as the dawn would be…_ Why am I here?_

Harry ran his hand across his chest, brushing the necklace on the hard planes of muscle. The symbol of ultimate sacrifice, and yet for the greater good of human kind. Harry would surrender his pride and pain to live that greater dream of Draco.

Harry sighed loudly. "Why I—"

Noisy footsteps flew down the stairs to the swing of a closing door.

*          *            *            *            *

Harry raced the corridors, somewhat lost in his new situation. His quarters were rather unique in their direction and it took him several minutes to find the passages toward the dungeons.

Hopefully that is the route Draco took, straight back to bed. And thoughts of bed led to more thoughts of bed, in a completely sexual manner. Oh yeah, Harry was horny—but horny for more than carnal embrace. It was ferocious sex and that plane of happiness Draco brought him to.

Or it was just the sex…_Never._

Harry moved faster, praying he'd catch Draco before he disappeared into the common room, before he left Harry's sight forever. Rounding a corner, he glimpsed a pale heap against the wall, shrouded in shadows.

Draco made it to his feet before he felt the impact of a moving body and lips colliding with his. He felt he should struggle, for a fleeting instant, and then an orange and mint scent pervaded his nostrils—Harry.

Those demanding lips reaped quite a response as Draco threw everything into that kiss. He pushed Harry up against the wall, pinning him with his body, reveling in the scorching heat of his skin. Hands splayed roughly against the planes of his back, eliciting a sharp hiss from Draco's lips. He gained more fervor when Harry pressed his chest to his.

Draco broke the kiss long enough to whisper, "Why did you come after me?" However, he didn't remain still long enough for Harry to answer.

Harry parted Draco's lips and snaked his tongue to stroke Draco's. Strokes turned to caresses and tongues explored the caverns of the other's mouth. Harry rejoiced between Draco and the wall, being trapped in passion. It was erotic, and combined with his earlier thoughts and the real heat of Draco against him, he was as rigid as iron in an instant.

His hands moved across the working muscles of Draco's back, from his shoulder blades down, caressing each nuance in shape. At his lower back, Harry skated over Draco's sides, and hips before rounding to grasp his firm buttocks. For Draco, it was nearly too much and he broke the battle of tongues to release the deep groan Harry's hands had evoked.

Without wasting a second, Harry's freed mouth moved to Draco's jaw, and kissed a line from ear to neck. He trailed the tip of his tongue along Draco's collarbone before nipping at the junction in the center.

"Draco," Harry breathed, "I want you. Only you."

Draco groaned as Harry slid further down, licking and nibbling at the flat pink discs on his chest. He was so hot, blisteringly so, his tongue a thing of fire. Harry moved deftly down, further and further toward the waist of his silk pants. The heat near Harry's neck radiated from Draco in waves, like the world would end from the very thought of it. Draco put both hands on the wall to steady himself as his minx moved lower.

Slowly, Harry trailed his fingers up the silk-clad thighs, coming ever nearer to Draco's aching cock. With deft movements, Harry untied the strings at the waist and the cloth slithered down the Slytherin's well-toned legs where it pooled at his feet.

In the drafty silence of the corridor, Draco Malfoy was naked and exposed to his arch-nemesis turned lover, Harry Potter, who happened to be on his knees and eager to take Draco into his mouth.

The hard length sprung forward and Harry smiled up into the stormy eyes of his love. Draco caught his breath as Harry turned his attentions to his throbbing manhood and blew softly on his tip. He shivered in anticipation with the double temperatures of his skin.

"Harry," Draco groaned, somewhat quietly, "should we do this here…"

Harry hardly paid heed and grasped the firm flesh in his hand; Draco hissed.

"Mmmm, yesss…"

It was the last coherent thing Draco heard before Harry, with slick lips, kissed his tip and began sliding his tongue along his length. Draco stood straight, letting go of the wall in favor of sliding his fingers into the raven head of hair below him. His actions encouraged Harry, who then took all of Draco in his mouth.

The heat encasing him, in wet bliss, god it was the best feeling in months, the feeling of being inside Harry. Draco threw his head back and groaned while Harry continued ministrations to his pulsing cock.

A small breeze flittered past, and though it cooled Draco's feverish skin, it intensified the excitement of the two men completely vulnerable to intrusion. Harry trailed his fingertips along the surface of Draco's thighs, and brushed lightly over the plump orbs at the base of his erection. They constricted, and Draco's breathing became more like panting, while the fingers in his hair tightened. Hips began to buck forward, Draco visibly thrusting into the cavern of Harry's sweet mouth.

In seconds Draco burst, spilling his seed rapidly onto the hungry tongue, and the smiling Gryffindor religiously swallowed it. Draco didn't give himself a moment to recover, but pulled Harry to his feet and kissed him thoroughly, his taste still lingering on that wicked tongue.

Clumsily, Draco pushed Harry against the wall once more, still weak in his post-orgasmic state. The kiss deepened, tongues dueling greedily, sliding and attacking. Draco drew his hands along Harry's biceps and further to shackle his wrists. Slowly, he tugged and before Harry knew what was happening, Draco had pinned his hands above his head and was now stroking his jaw line. Harry shivered.

"You are wicked, Potter. You should be punished." Draco breathed heavily against a set of lips.

"Yes, I need to be punished. I am so naughty." Harry wantonly thrust his own desire against Draco's rapidly hardening one. He gasped, "Draco—"

"Did you see a room near here…" Draco managed between pants.

Harry arched his back to create even more friction and contact between their scantily clad feverish bodies. "A little bit that way."

Draco moaned. "Harry, we can't, here,"

"I know," Harry kissed Draco, licking his lips as he pulled away, "take me…" Harry let the sentence hang, and the double meaning sink in. Draco growled a primitive sound and roughly drew Harry to him.

He lifted Harry by his buttocks and wrapped his legs around his waist, walking quickly to the door framed by the stone. Inelegantly, Draco swung the door inward, into the room and toward the wide granite bench.

The door closed itself behind them as Draco halted next to the seat. Sensuously Harry slid down Draco's body, caressing every part of him with everything he had. Instead of bringing Draco to his knees, Harry moaned aloud and nearly unmanned himself on contact.

Harry took the back of Draco's neck and stared intensely into Draco's liquid silver eyes. _I want you, Draco._ Slowly, he leaned into the kiss, taking possession of Draco's lips in a scorching touch, igniting the flames of passion.

He didn't need to be told twice.

With alacrity, Draco spun Harry around, swept off his pants and bent him over to grasp the back of the bench. Taking his hips in his hands, Draco spread Harry's legs wide and positioned himself over his entrance. Ever so lightly, Draco pushed in, stretching just enough before pulling out again.

"Do you want more?" Draco strained to get his voice heard.

Harry was panting and moaning, barely able to breathe. "Yes…"

Draco moved his hand around Harry and gripped him firmly. With practiced strokes, Draco pumped Harry's length, eliciting loud groans and hisses from the man before him. His breathing became more rapid, like he needed air; Draco knew he was close and sped his caresses with each passing second. Harry tightened and wound himself taught, feeling the sensation of Draco touching him again. And with a blinding flash of light, Harry came into Draco's waiting hand, gasping and whimpering.

"Draco…"

He responded with a guttural growl and took Harry's seed and slathered his cock and Harry's entrance with it. Again Draco went back to teasing Harry, moving just far enough in, stretching him, and relaxing him.

"Please, Draco, please…"

Draco smiled, "Just wait, Potter… Harry…"

His name was a breath so close to his ear; it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine. Draco paused, holding on to every muscle to not pound into Harry, but the last tingle pushed Harry onto him and Draco lost control.

In one swift thrust he was completely sheathed in Harry's heat, and he made musical gasps and whimpers as Draco pumped into him. He was relentless, going and going, again and again. It was carnal, primal, primitive and perfect. It was fierce and ferocious, Draco behind, Harry bent forward, thrust after thrust.

Passion wound around them, strung them through and lifted them away from the material plane. It was a mating to assure the other was still alive, breathing and there with them. Muscles contracted, orbs tightened, stomachs went taught. Draco could feel himself close and leaned forward to clasp Harry's once again.

He moved in time with his thrusts, becoming quicker and more sporadic. Draco took in the sheen of sweat that bathed them both and their bodies gleaming in the partial moonlight. In that moment, they both exploded, discharging everything; anything and everything in that release.

_I love you, Draco._

"And I love you, Harry."

The two lay on the bench, wrapped in each other's arms. Though the seat was stone, it was surprisingly warm—something about magical granite.

"Promise me something, Malfoy." Harry whispered against his lips.

"Anything."

"Promise you'll never leave me for a senseless reason like that again."

_It wasn't senseless._ "I promise."

"I know you think you did the right thing, but, I can take care of myself." _As long as you are with me._

"I know, love. I know."

*          *            *            *            *

Professor Snape, in his usual billowing robes, strode menacingly down the corridor, taking in the misty air and the slanted windows. It was just the night to be patrolling, the new moon, bound to be trouble. Students were still hyperactive on a new moon, no matter how many people say it is the full that gets the most.

He passed a few stones where he noticed a black pool near the side wall, next to a suit of armor. Bending down, he picked the garment up: silk pajama bottoms. Someone is out of bed, and apparently half naked. Oh, what a fun night it will be tonight…

*          *            *            *            *

Harry and Draco lay there still twenty minutes after, when the morning light began to seep through.

"I think we should get going, back to my room."

"I think you're right, for once Potter." But Draco made no move to leave, only buried his face in the crook of Harry's shoulder.

"Come on Draco, we can have a nice bed, and all day today."

Reluctantly, Harry sat up and brought his lover with him. Harry grabbed his pants and put them on slowly and deliberately, just to tease a certain someone.

"I think mine are still in the corridor."

Together they made their way to the door and opened its well-oiled hinges. They both stepped out, and looked upon the stone floor of the empty passage.

"Oh, dear, Draco. I believe one of the Castle inhabitants has run off with your clothes." Harry chuckled.

"It seems so, Potter." He stood with his hands on hips.

"Well, come on." Harry took Draco's hand and they ran back to his rooms, Harry pinching and slapping and teasing all the way there.

-Fin-


End file.
